Schmetterdne Schwerter
by snfsylva
Summary: Schmetterdne Schwerter - German for Battering Swords. Sequel to Save the Brother. With tensions between the Volksrepublik and Sylva at an all time high after the Sellenland War, and a recent ultranationalist takeover with nuclear ambitions in Wanka, the region of Septentrion is set on the warpath once again...
1. Die Patrioten

**9th January 2005**. On this cold, winter morning a group of twelve men arrived at a grey apartment in downtown Ulm. The one who opened, a man in his forties with a high forehead and twinkling blue eyes, was Heinrich Sonneborn- the future second chancellor of the People's Republic of Wanka. As a child, he had seen how Wanka was plunged into the chaos, the new king unable to maintain peace within his own borders after the disastrous war with Sylva and the resulting Treaty of Hessen. Forcefully recruited into a local communist militia at the age of 15, he quickly got to experience the horrors of war. Nevertheless, Sonneborn did well in the militia, rising up its ranks and eventually receiving command of an entire brigade, with which he promptly defected to Meinhof's approaching Liberation Army.

Throughout all his chaos, and despite the years spent alongside orthodox communists, Sonneborn never changed his mind as to who was responsible for the downfall of this once great empire. He had retained a copy of the Treaty of Hessen, in hope of one day being able to throw it in the Sylvans face and make them pay for the suffering that was caused as a result of their greed and paranoia. Along the way, he'd met several like-minded people, all men who wished to see that the Wankan state and people would once again stand tall amongst the giants of this world. They called themselves simply _Die Patrioten_ , or, you guessed it, "The Patriots". Amongst them: Laurent Blank, future _Geheimpolizei_ head; Oberst Max Esenti, future head of the Air Force; Siegfried Zusak, future economy minister. All of them playing a part in Meinhof's fifteen-year long government, and all of them playing a part in tearing it down.

Because Sonneborn knew that Meinhof's party, Zentrum (Center), was practically unbeatable. Not only because the Sylvan-educated Ulrike Meinhof created a democratic system which she knew how to use and succeed in, but also because of her reputation of nearly single-handedly ending the Dark Ages and bringing back order, stability and prosperity which had not been seen for nearly half a century. Thus, Sonneborn's strategy was to bring it down- from within.

The first breakthrough came in May 2008, when Siegfried Zusak was appointed Minister of Finance and as such was the first Patriot member of Meinhof's cabinet. The group steadily grew, albeit in the shadows, and when asked about it, the members would make it sound harmless (hell, it wasn't the only nationalist group). The second came two years later, when Max Esenti, now with the rank of a _Generalfeldmarschall_ , was appointed head of the poorly equipped Air Force. Finally, in 2012, Laurent Blank was appointed head of the _Geheimpolizei_ , the intelligence agency of the interior, and with that, an inherently huge amount of power and influence. The notorious Gepo, as it was called, operated practically above the law and was extremely secretive in nature. With the help of the agency, the Patriots further cemented their position and used it to anchor themselves within Zentrum. They persuaded Meinhof to create the Nürnberger Allianz für Zukunftsgerichtete Interregionalkooperation (NAZI), and finally in March 2015, to orchestrate a war in the Sellenland.

Eventually, one could say inevitably, Heinrich Sonneborn himself was brought into the cabinet as vice-chancellor when his predecessor became entangled in a corruption scandal (helpfully uncovered by the Gepo). This was the golden moment; after ten whole years of plotting and scheming, power was truly within their reach.

 **Kronstadt | Kreis Kronstadt  
Volksrepublik Wanka  
Two weeks after the Second Sellenland War  
1539 Hours | March 21st, 2015  
**

_Range, two hundred meters. Wind speed and direction, negligible. Excellent visibility, excellent weather for this mission_ _, t_ he pale man behind a sniper rifle thought. He was a member of the Sixth Kampfkommando-Kader (6. KKK), the special forces unit of the Gepo. His target was five minutes late for her speech, but here she was. His crosshairs tracked her movements as she strode up to the podium, surrounded by bodyguards in suits. They, too, were troops of 6. KKK. But that was irrelevant.

The sniper did not hesitate. The target stopped, turned to face the audience. The sniper placed his target in his crosshairs and fired. The target fell. As the screaming, cries and chaos broke out he slung his rifle over his shoulder, picked up the fallen cartridge and walked down the stairs toward the car park. But he never arrived there. Out of the shadows, a young woman wearing sunglasses stepped out. Her arm was extended, pointing at his head.

 _"Tut mir Leid, Maximillian. Blank's befehl."_ ("Sorry, Maximillian. Blank's orders.")

The shot echoed loudly in the empty car park.

Just several dozen kilometers away, an armored car was speeding toward the government house. Sonneborn talked quickly and quietly on his phone.

" _Sie hat's überlebt_? Meinhof survived? How?" he said angrily. "Spare me the details. In a coma? Okay, put her under Blank's supervision. Make sure that nobody, absolutely nobody gets to see her and that if she wakes up, she stays where she is. Don't allow her to contact anyone, put her back to sleep if necessary. Is that clear?"

He pressed the "End Call" button, and forced himself to calm down. Everything would be under control. He was now the _de facto_ chancellor, the most powerful person in Wanka. He had enacted martial law, the first time Kronstadt would experience it since the Republic's establishment. In the mean time, well-prepared Gepo agents were going to work. It had been "discovered" that the shooter (who had been killed by an officer after attempting to draw his gun) had been paid by an underground ring containing Zentrum members and leaders of the opposition to assassinate Meinhof. Using the "National Security Act", Sonneborn soon would have purged his own party of those who didn't share his views, and destroyed the opposition. And then he would finally be the chancellor and leader of his fatherland.

 **Max-Bonhoffer-Streitkräfte-Kommandozentrale Nürnberg  
Nürnberg | Unterweserkreis | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Two months after Patriot takeover | May 12th, 2015  
**

In the end, all did go well. Meinhof survived the surgery, but she continued to stay in a coma, which suited Sonneborn. Within the party, those who opposed the new chancellor and his clique suddenly found themselves embroiled in corruption scandals which made headlines, obscuring the more sinister activities of the new government. A new law had been passed successfully, requiring all members of parliament to be approved by an "independent board" (conveniently stuffed with Patriot people) and then a quick election was held. Incidentally, the law was called the "Ensuring Democracy Act". Only MP's of Zentrum and a puppet party passed and could be selected. To the masses, nothing had changed; Zentrum was, as always, in power, and was squabbling with the more radical opposition party. As for Sonneborn, well, he had the power to change the constitution itself.

The masses, it could be seen, really didn't mind. The new chancellor seemed to be as rational and strong as his predecessor, and he kept using her name, praising her work, vowing to continue what she had started. It initially came as a little surprise when he declared that he intended to increase defense spending by 20% and increase the size and capabilities of the armed forces (while mentioning briefly the development of a strategic, nuclear deterrence). After hearing all the pacifist talk by the Meinhof administration, this was something new, and eyebrows were raised. But all doubts were gone once he said that he was only doing what Meinhof had been planning to do.

Down the corridors in the underground bunker which served as one of the Armed Forces primary command centers, two pairs of footsteps could be heard.

"You know, I'm really wondering why Meinhof intentionally kept the military so puny." said Sonneborn, his voice echoing along the corridors. "Increasing its size would have massive benefits to our economy. We can draw several hundred thousand young men and women into employment, not including the additional manpower required by the military-industrial complex. I was worried that it would drain our economy, but it might as well have the opposite effect, so Zusak says."

"Meinhof didn't want the army to become too big," replied Rudolf Hintner, the newly-appointed defense minister. "She wanted absolute control, and didn't want to risk having elements of the army launching some kind of coup, like back in the 1970s. Besides, she really did believe that peace and diplomacy could solve our problems. One reason why she allowed herself to be persuaded to stop the nuclear arms program."

"Oh yes, how is that coming along?" Sonneborn asked. He had without hesitation immediately restarted the dormant program after coming to power.

"We estimate that we can begin production of a nuclear weapon by February next year. Of course, it will take a while until we can actually have an operational weapon. The Atramentari have been extremely helpful and with their assistance, development will proceed rapidly. Erquin is also showing interest, they've offered to cover the cost of maintaining the Sellenland and investing in it, along with massive loans, in exchange to be part of the program." said Rudolf Hintner, the newly-appointed defense minister. "I strongly suggest you keep quiet about this program, though. Our people might have missed it, but the Septentrion League have not and their making some serious noise."

Sonneborn smiled at that. "Let them complain, it's not like they'll be able to do that for much longer. Isn't that why I'm here?" With that, he showed his ID to the guard, who opened the door to the situation room. Awaiting him were the familiar faces of the General Staff and accompanying officers. As Vice-Chancellor he had always advocated more funding and expansion of the armed forces, something which made him popular amongst the army's top brass who'd welcomed the change in leadership.

 _"Meine Damen und Herren,"_ Sonneborn began after everyone had settled down. "In light of the changing security landscape, I believe that our defense apparatus is long past due some significant reform. In the view of our foes, Wanka is no more a harmless, poor and penniless nation, it is a growing power which seeks to play a greater role in the international arena.

"Exactly fifty years ago, our empire was forced to its knees and was eventually torn to shreds by the Sylvans who imposed the impossible Treaty of Hessen on us. This treaty will form a central part of our foreign policy from now on, as I will seek to recover what has been lost. In the United Territories, our dear 'friends', we have another several million Wankers and hundreds of square kilometers territory in foreign hands. In the north, our territories beyond the Dreispitzen mountains lie in Mozrian hands. But most importantly, in Sachsen, we have over eleven million starving Wankers suffering under the yoke of Sylvan oppression.

"We will see how far diplomacy gets us. However, we must not forget the nation and people who put us in this situation in the first place. Sylva- Sylva is the root of all our problems! And up to now, the trigger-happy Sylvans have never missed a chance to threaten or attack Wanka and are always ready to deal our nation the final blow.

"Let us take a look at the map. With Sachsen under Sylvan occupation, they are in a prime position to strike at the vital industrial center of Hessen, or could drive north into Gladbach and northern Wanka. And we? To get into Sylva, we need to either fight our way through Sachsen or through the Cloyster Mountains before we can actually strike at something vital to the Sylvan economic machine. And if the Sylvans aren't willing to give up what is rightfully ours, that is precisely what we're going to do."

Murmurs of agreement rose up from the ranks of the Generals. To most of them, this was exactly what they wanted to hear, and exactly what they had been pushing for over the past decade. However, they had to admit that the armed forces simply wasn't strong enough for that yet.

"You will have overall nine months to prepare for such an eventuality. I want to have an army that is capable of bringing an enemy three times as strong as the Sylvan army to its knees within weeks. For that, you will have the necessary funding. Thankfully, while they are not obliged to assist us in the event of a preemptive offensive, the Erquinians have agreed to provide us with significant loans. If absolutely necessary, we can triple our defense budget."

So much for 20%! The faces of the Generals showed even more surprise. This was getting better and better.

"I will set up an independent commission to monitor your progress. By January next year, I want every Wankan division or wing to be as strong as a Sylvan one. We should have a proper strategy within this month which we will discuss in our coming meetings, so that you can properly prepare and train your units."

"But if we suddenly start this huge build-up, won't we alert the Sylvans? I assure you that this will be practically impossible to hide." asked Generalfeldmarschall Ludwig von der Leijen, the general responsible for the Wankan victory in the Sellenland war.

"Ah, yes, but leave that to the politicians. For one, the Sylvans have always made fun of our puny army- some of them also believe that our army needs to be at least a little bigger- but nevertheless, we will make it clear that our efforts are only defensive in nature, and directed against Aemen and the United Territories. So be prepared to be stationed near the UT border or in the Aemen mountains; of course, we will have underhand assurances to both nations that our efforts are directed against Sylva. But leave that to us politicians."

Soft laughter erupted in the room. Sonneborn, having said all he wanted to say, thanked the staff and exited the room. He was to give another speech in southern Wankas historical capital in four hours.


	2. History Repeats

**Solving the Wanko-Sylvan Problem** **– An editorial by** **Eduard Pön for the Kronstadter Kurier**

Conflict and general mutual hostility between the two ethnic groups have been all to visible and documented since they manifested into statehood. It is already long past due that this historic schism is laid to rest.

Large-scale Wankan military exercises. Increasingly hostile war of words. Sonneborn and von Preisen warning of the Sylvan military threat, reinforced by the build-up of military assets on the Saxon border. Attacks on ethnic Sylvans, and vice versa. Most recently, the bombing in Würzburg by suspected Sylvan terrorists.

Since the Sellenland insurgency, the tension in central Casaterra has skyrocketed, primarily between Wanka and Sylva. The situation is horrifically similar to the Black War, and neither government is doing anything to stop it. Debates have raged as to whose fault it is for the current crisis, which is revolving around Saxony, a now quasi-independent state. Ask any Wanker, and they will say without hesitation: "The Sylvans, its all their fault." But to what extent is it their fault? And how can we peacefully settle this issue?

 **Reconciliation**

18th June, 1960. Suddenly, without warning or justification whatsoever, Sylvan troops pour into Wanka and in the brutal following years, destroys its military and is forced to submit itself to the evil Sylvan will in the Treaty of Hessen. This is what the majority of the populace believe, including Meinhof and Sonneborn, the latter who has repeatedly cited this event. But real world events are never purely black and white. Yes, the Sylvans did really invade, just like that. Yes, they forced an extremely harsh peace treaty on Wanka. The question is, _why_?

The pre-1960 Wankan Empire was no doubt a rising power. Colonies, notably in the far west, had been made and soon Wanka was challenging Sylvan hegemony over Yervhenn. Both sides attempted to wage a secret war on each other to, for the Sylvans, maintain their status as the Number One superpower, and for the Kaiser, to rework the world order. Rebellions in Sylvan colonies were financed by Wanka, while Sylva did the same in Canton. Kidnappings, hijackings and the occasional "incident" between the two navies were commonplace, but rarely reported in the news. Throughout that period, however, the borders between the two nations remained calm and peaceful. There was no sign of any tensions whatsoever, and Sylvans and Wankers crossed it and conducted business in relative harmony.

Yet it all came to a head in November 1959, still an obscure if not unknown event in Wankan history. Off the coast of southern Yervhenn, Sylva decided to enact a "Maritime Defense Zone". This allowed the Sylvan Navy to monitor and control all shipping passing through the straits, which was vital for the Wankan economy. The Kaiser protested loudly, but that amounted to nothing, so a naval task force was sent into the straits to test its waters. In the resulting duel, six Sylvan ships were either damaged or destroyed, amongst them a battlecruiser. The _Kaiserliche Marine_ lost a frigate and had two cruisers severely damaged (they saw no action during the war). It was one of the lopsided Sylvan naval defeats in history, and it truly shocked the King. Wanka then proceeded to occupy island colonies in the Sidious Ocean which the Sylvans had abandoned, due to Wankan-orchestrated unrest. In the face of what the Sylvans saw as uninterrupted Wankan aggression, they decided to act to neutralize the perceived threat.

This is should be known, but unfortunately, it is not. The history curriculum in our modern public educational system barely touches upon the causes of the war itself. It was not so much a war of evil Sylvan aggression; it was more of a struggle for global hegemony, more specifically Sylvan paranoia, in which Wanka played its part in getting itself destroyed.

Moving on to the Treaty of Hessen, notorious in Wanka for being unnecessarily harsh. Wanka was stripped off its colonies, which weren't contributing much to the Wankan economy anyway (due to contradictory Wankan colonization policy). And to the most burning issue at the moment: the creation of an independent Saxony. Contrary to popular opinion, it is unlikely that this was only done to destroy the Wankan spirit and honor. Rather, it serves more as a buffer state to protect the Sylvan northwest from Wanka. The other punishments were there to cement Sylvas shaky position as the worlds prime imperial superpower.

As stated before, never are such issues black and white. However, it did happen half a century ago, and it is time that both sides of the conflict reflect and admit past mistakes. This will be a crucial step in ensuring peace and security on the continent. Sylva should apologize for starting the war and recognize that the terms forced upon Wanka were unjust. Sonneborn should stop blaming Sylva for plunging Wanka into the dark ages, and should relax his anti-Sylvan rhetoric and fearmongering. Furthermore, Wankan Sylvans should be protected equally as any other citizen and attempts to create division have to be stopped immediately. This week alone, since the Sylvan terrorist attacks, the Kurier has reported eight occasions of house stormings of the 6th KKK. All efforts need to be made to prevent the alienation of minorities, which isn't just present on ethnic Sylvans and policies to promote integration into Wankan society. Our education system needs to be reformed to focus more on the teachings of perceived 'foreign' cultures and languages (particularly English), in addition to the desegregation of our public schools.

 **Cooperation instead of Confrontation**

Throughout fifteen years of diplomatic relations under Meinhof's rule, never has there been truly proper cooperation between Wanka and Sylva whether on the diplomatic, economic or security fronts. Essentially, a 'Cold War' existed between the two nations after Wanka got back on its feet. On the world stage, it was common to see Wankan and Sylvan diplomats berating each other. The borders remain closed and well-guarded. No significant trade deals have been made which could have significantly benefit both sides. Criminals on both sides fled across to the other nation to escape punishment, and extradition requests were denied often purely to anger the other side. More recently, when Sylva announced its economic warfare policy on the Allied Nations to counter its aggression, urging other nations to join in, Wanka not only refused to but condemned it. And when the Sellenland insurgency began, Sylva actively sought to tarnish its reputation and paint it as an aggressive and unreasonable nation despite complete lack of evidence.

In Meinhofs case, that is due to her longstanding distrust of Sylvans in general (while she actively took to protecting Sylvans living in Wanka). Having been double-crossed and used by Sylvan financiers, while learning of Sylvan soldiers passively watching entire villages getting massacred by the communists, it cannot come as a surprise that she has not been very welcome to the Sylvans. With the unfortunate and terrible assassination attempt which forced the change in leadership, I was hopeful that at least on this front the situation would improve. But on the contrary, chancellor Sonneborn has not hesitated to worsen relations. The dormant Saxony issue was once again brought up, followed by an unprecedented rearmament process.

Now, many have pushed for a much larger military to be actually capable of securing Wanka, amongst them ministers and Volks and Kreistag MPs of Zentrum itself. The reason definitely not economic. By limiting the size of the armed forces and the military-industrial complex Meinhof ensured that Sylva and the other Wankan neighbours wouldn't regard Wanka as a threat. A more underlying reason was her distrust of the military itself as she had to deal with a coup d'état by her own Guard back in the 90's and she insisted that by limiting its power the fundamental democratic constitution of Wanka would not be threatened in its most vulnerable years.

The strengthening of the armed forces is long past due, but has come on precisely the wrong time and on the wrong scale. The sudden build-up has only served to heighten fears and has further complicated the Saxony issue, which has now been pulled into the protective umbrella of the Septentrion League. Furthermore, a border confrontation with the United Territories has erupted right out of the blue, a clear sign of the failings of the Sonneborn administrations' foreign policy.

This seemingly endless confrontations between the two nations, at times seemingly just for the sake of confrontation, has to come to an end. Instead of labeling and reinforcing the view that the two are the worlds foremost geopolitical enemies, the leaders should work towards a greater scope of cooperation on the diplomatic, economic and security fronts which would not only be beneficial to both sides but would also pave the way for a brighter and peaceful future for our coming generations.

 _The author is a former Wankan foreign minister who served from 2000-2004, and has since his retirement written numerous books on Wankan history, foreign policy and its position on the global stage, amongst them "Ursprünge des Schwarzen Krieges" ("Origins of the Black War"), "Der Wanksche Norden" ("The Wankan North") and "Erfolge und Fehler der Meinhofschen Aussenpolitik" ("Successes and Mistakes of Meinhofs Foreign Policy")._


	3. The Nuclear Question

**Max-Bonhoffer-Streitkräfte-Kommandozentrale Nürnberg  
Nürnberg | Volksrepublik Wanka  
1345 hours | May 24th, 2015  
**

After the lunch break, officers, officials and cabinet members filed back into the conference room. Sonneborn looked pleased, as he had just received news that the two new laws that he had passed, the _Gesellschaftseinträchtigkeitsgesetz_ (Community Harmony Act) and the amendment to the _Landessicherheitsgesetz_ (National Security Act) had been received without much complaint from the local population. The first ensured that anyone who made "unconstructive criticism or insult toward any ethnic/religious/ideological community or government which would serve to harm social cohesiveness or undermine national security" could be brought to court. The second ensured that the police could detain anyone suspected of "threatening national security" for up to two years. This gave him broad powers to pull in line not only political opponents, but journalists and other politically unreliable people who stood in the way of his activities. He would not abuse his powers, however, as that would almost certainly lead to increased resistance to his rule. For now, soft power would be used to convince the masses that his ideas were right, starting with educational reforms and the subtle takeover of the media and academia.

Heinrich Sonneborn sat down. To his right was Rudolf Hintner, the defense minister, and to his left Laurent Blank, head of the _Geheimpolizei_ , the secret police. Arguably, the three most powerful figures in Wanka with a near complete control of the 150-million strong population.

"Saxony's inclusion into the Septentrion League really doesn't come as a surprise. The way Sylva and Saxony are tied together economically and historically, they practically were in an alliance together. Sylva is the raison d'être for Saxony's existence. Without Sylva, there wouldn't be an independent Saxony." commented Heinrich von Preisen, the foreign minister as the issue of Saxony was brought up.

"What would it mean for us?" inquired Sonneborn. The collection of faces around him was the same as practically all the meetings preceding this one.

"Just that Sylva and its cronies can officially station troops in Saxony. But Sylva already has stationed troops and military advisors there for years, that much has been pretty obvious. It would make little difference, however, and I still put emphasis on flexibility for our strategy." replied Hintner. "Besides, it gives us a great excuse to station troops- precisely, the 4th Panzer-Division and the thirteenth to sixteenth Füsiliers. These are the troops that will open the assault in case hostilities break out. However, we have positioned them in such a way that it appears to the Sylvans as if this would be a façade for the preparation of an invasion of the United Territories."

"Excuse me?" interrupted Admiral Reinhard Lanzer, the commander of the _Seestreitkräfte_ , the navy. "How does that work?"

"We have set up fake ammunition depots, armories and supply centers far north along the UT border. Commanders will be instructed to talk about crushing Dragon pigs during training and spread the word about invading the UT. Now, this is going to be done quite convincingly, and we run the risk of coming into conflict with the UT. But it is a risk that we've decided to take. It is doubtful that they would strike at us preemptively." said Hintner smugly. It was his idea, and he felt that it was a pretty good one. "Anyway, let's move on."

"Right," agreed Sonneborn, " _Herr Generalfeldmarschall?_ " he said, motioning at von der Leijen, who had just been promoted to the head of the Wankan General Staff, and as such would be in charge of the entire military side if war broke out. He had been in charge of the successful Sellenland operation, and Sonneborn and his closest Patriot advisors recognized perhaps the greatest, if the most unknown military commander that Wanka ever had. In the matter of five days he had seized territory the size of the entire Hessen-Wiesbaden metropolitan district with, in hindsight, minimal casualties. The only doubt that Sonneborn had of him was that he couldn't, unlike the rest of the Generality, be sucked into Patriot's hypernationalist and militant ideology. However, it was clear that he was a realist, a master of _realpolitik_ and would do what he thought was best for his country- and as long as that "best for his country" meant the crushing of Sylva, they were on the same side. Besides, as Meinhof had skilfully done, it was perhaps for the best that he had a balance of voices in his cabinet to ensure that the right decisions were taken.

"Total troops will reach just under nine hundred thousand troops, although we have to keep in mind that the new reserve divisions are of lesser quality and will also have to be equipped with older weaponry if a war breaks out early next year. Of these, of course," reported von der Leijen, "there are not a small number of criminal elements within them. I have received rather disturbing reports of numerous beatings and even a murder. While I agree that this is necessary to boost numbers-"

"It also gives them a job and might make them do something useful." interrupted Sonneborn. "As we've discussed before, I believe that the majority of these 'criminal elements' will conform to military life and become motivated to do something good for their country. You could say that I was one of them, too."

Von der Leijen and several other close associates of Sonneborn chuckled at that. "My point is that it might be inadvisable to use them as occupational troops. They are used to taking advantage and abusing those that are defenseless, and my concern is that Saxon civilians, whether Wankan, Sylvan or Aemen, may prove vulnerable if these people are in charge. We don't want… unfortunate breeches of human rights or any other atrocities which might undermine the morale of the frontline troops and put us further in international isolation."

"Good point." agreed Sonneborn, "I have noted that down, but time is tight and we need to move on to the general strategy."

Discussion and Decision Day carried on until late into the night. Officials from the weather, railroad, traffic and civilian police departments were amongst the numerous civilian personnel whose input and consultancy was needed. Occupation of Saxony, and later, western Sylva was dealt with along with the handling of civilians and setting up of puppet states (for Saxony, it would just be annexed back into Wanka). Out of this discussion training schedules emerged, concentration camps set up and military and civilian personnel trained for the upcoming task. To the Sylvans, it would have to look like preparations for an invasion of the UT. For the UT, it would look like Wanka was preparing to invade Sylva or Aemen. Sonneborn and his ring of politicians and generals were confident that as long as nobody (perhaps, including themselves) was sure what was going on, they would retain the element of surprise.

 **Osterwald | Southern Saxony  
0430 hours | August 28th, 2015**

The war on the SL had already unofficially begun as Hauptmann Selina Sasitsch and her 12-man team stepped over the Saxo-Wankan border, each carrying some fifty kilograms of equipment. Her troops belonged to the (named in the usual overcomplicated German fashion) Sonderkampfentwicklungsgruppe Koppa-Koppa (Son-der-camf-ent-vick-luhngs-groo-pe) which stood for "Special Combat Development Group" followed by the greek letters ϞϞ . Usually, it was just known as Koppa. This was quite literally Wankas SEAL Team Six, although it did not just specialize in counterterrorism- its companies specialized in unconventional warfare, direct-action, hostage rescue, reconnaissance, counter-insurgency and as forward air controllers. They were the best of the best, recruited solely from the other ten KKK (Kampfkommando-Kader, all special forces groups) units. The recruitment process and training was the most hardest and hazardous programs any soldier could face, and the powerfully built Sasitsch was proud to be one of the few female soldiers who'd managed to make it into Koppa.

Its troops didn't lack experience either. Just earlier this year, she had been in the freezing Sellenland mountains training elements of the Spezialeinsatzkräfte Sellenland (SEKS) for the fight against the Aemen. Weeks later, she performed FAC duties, using laser to mark Aemen armor which the attack choppers promptly destroyed. The Koppa teams trained and led the SEKS, a unit which proved devastating for the Aemen occupiers as their commanders fell prey to Koppa snipers while their already difficult logistical situation was made worse by regular raids and ambushes. Something which would hopefully be repeated here in Saxony.

The Abwehr guide lead them next to a dirt road which ran through the Osterwald. As the foreign-intelligence agency, it had in place a solid spy network in Saxony (and practically all other neighbouring countries) and as such had been designated to lead the special-operations part in conjunction with the armed forces. Sasitsch's team was one of the first of many teams that would follow suit, all under the command and supervision of the Abwehr, who would provide safe houses, cover, fake identities and any extra necessary equipment in addition to transport and intelligence information when the time came to act. The grand strategy told for a flanking assault through the Osterwald; her first job would be, dressed as local hunters, to reconnoiter the forest so that the leadership could decide whether such an assault would be feasible or not. Other teams, some Koppa and some of the other KKK units, would take on different roles; 10th KKK was planning the capture of bridges, 2nd would target the enemy command structure and 4th was preparing to assist the Air Force in blowing up enemy air defenses (later tanks). The teams that needed to blend in and get used to their new environment would enter earlier, as with Sasitsch while a great influx of green (or white, during winter) faced troops was planned for just before the official invasion.

 **Aldert's Legacy  
Port Prince  
17:45PM**

With the sun beginning to set over the city of Port Prince, one could say there was a certain calmness in the air; being summer, the city was baking in the elements with citizens sporting the likes of shorts and sandals in an attempt to combat the rising temperature's perspiring effects. It was hard to believe for some that, only a few months ago, the city was awash with the Crown Guard who were there for defensive purposes during the Second Sellenland War. People and businesses, particularly those of Sellenwanker affiliations, were constantly under scrutiny by King Reginald's army and life in Port Prince declined dramatically as the crown restricted the city's commercial freedoms as it scrambled to cling on to the Sellenland. However, that all seemed to be a long time ago - not only had the restrictions on businesses been lifted, the Guard had moved on as well, being recalled to Erus and allowing the city breathe freely again. Though Aemen was slightly smaller due to the war's loss, the ordinary Aemen was undeterred when it came to his daily life. It was the upper echelons of Aemen society that bore the brunt of the crown's stinging defeat at the hands of the Wankers.

Bobbing softly in its berth at the Rademaker-owned Gleshan Pier, the ultra-modern super-yacht, Aldert's Legacy, was playing host to a new scheme. Field Marshal Gilbert Bezuidenhout, taking his summer leave, had been invited by Prince Ivan to attend the weekend on the Legacy. Ivan and Bezuidenhout were sat on reclining chairs on the Legacy's main deck, enjoying the last hour or two of the orange sunlight that consumed Port Prince's skyline. Between the two was a bottle of half-empty whiskey. It was clear the two had been talking for quite a while.

"Yes... such a shame about the Sellenland. They simply caught you off guard, Field Marshal, the speed and fanaticism with which those bastards fought caught us all off guard." Ivan remarked. He'd already discussed the outcome of the conflict three times with Bezuidenhout, but he had other plans in mind for the Field Marshal that required him to hammer the point home in his guest's mind.

"I haven't lost a single battle, Your Highness. Not a single, bloody battle. I was always the top of my class in war games, every strategy my superiors pitted against me, no matter what the conditions, I was always able to find a solution out of it. I was posted to the Sellenland as a Colonel during the first war, I hardly knew the area, but we still triumphed..." Bezuidenhout sighed, gazing out at the fading glow of dusk. "...What changed in that time that I could have been bested by a group of fucking mountain plebs?"

Ivan smiled, sipping from his whiskey and scratching his stubbled chin. "I only heard whispers of how my father reacted to the ceasefire. I have heard it wasn't... pleasant."

Bezuidenhout didn't look at the prince, keeping his eyes directly forward. "His Majesty wouldn't even see me after the ceasefire was signed. Now I've got some bastard Folcwalding eyeing up my chairmanship of the Armed Forces Committee. I can feel that hideous family breathing down my neck, waiting to pounce on me as soon as I slip up." It was clear that the whiskey bottle in-between Ivan and Bezuidenhout wasn't the first one to have been consumed. For a man like Ivan, who regularly threw money on expensive vintages and brands with taste that would put rocket fuel to shame, it was easy to stay sober, but for Bezuidenhout, the whiskey was bringing out his true feelings as it began to dull his senses and loosen his lips.

Ivan nodded sympathetically. It was all for show of course, he'd spied an opportunity to get something he wanted, but he needed support from the military and, crucially of all, his father. "What if I were to tell you, Field Marshal, that there is a way for you to regain your composure amongst the aristocracy without risking yourself further?"

Bezuidenhout turned away from the horizon, staring at the prince with his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. "Your Royal Highness? What are you suggesting?"

Ivan grinned, sipping from his whiskey once more. "It's simple, really. Have you been keeping up to date with the current affairs of Murovanka? Their behaviour is interesting to say the least."

"They recently released a statement using quite antagonistic language against the Sylvans… some would say they aren't in the mood with making allies out of anyone on the continent at the moment."

"Which gives us the perfect opportunity, Field Marshal." Ivan stood up from his chair, drinking the last of his whiskey and setting the glass down on the table. "With the loss of the Sellenland our oil exports have shrunk, we've had to import more. This might not worry my father, it's his treasury, but it worries me, it makes us look weak compared to a third-rate backwater cesspool like Murovanka."

Since the Sellenland's successful bid for 'independence', Ivan's biggest generator of profit, Salian and Co., had lost a huge amount of money - not only had one of its prime oil fields been seized by the Sellenwankers but its shares on the market had fallen steadily in the last few months. There was no doubt in Ivan's mind that it was a blip, a minor issue that would just need to be plugged with something others wanted… but what? Ivan already owned most if not all of the business in Aemen through the Royal House of Olbridge brand, there was nothing he could do within Aemen's borders to replace the Sellenland's oil, so he had to look further afield at more risky options.

Ivan turned to Bezuidenhout, leaning against his yacht's railing. "I'm going to need your support, Field Marshal. This squabbling over Saxony is going to be monitored carefully and when the time is right, you will lead the charge under my flag, rather than my father's."

Bezuidenhout's eyes widened, unsure of what the prince was asking him to do. "Your Highness, with the utmost respect, I serve the King, I am sworn to him as one of His Majesty's most trusted commanders."

"You won't need to worry about my father, Gilbert. I've already spoken with him over the issue."

 **Olbridge Castle  
Erus  
Several days earlier**

"That's utterly preposterous. What you just suggested is a waste of military resources." exclaimed the King to his son as the two strolled through the Olbridge gardens. Bright as the day was, the sun was obscured occasionally by clouds that grew in size as the day rolled on. Ivan had made a rare visit to Olbridge Castle, something Reginald always detested as it meant Ivan was after something.

"No, father, listen, we wouldn't even have to do the horrific business. Tensions between the Wankans and the Sylvans are heating up as it is. We'll let them have at each other for a while, trying to play the role of the diplomatic mediators, of peacekeepers, then, when we see one side on the cusp of victory, at the pinnacle of its campaign, we strike. We take Saxony under the pre tense that it's for the good of the region that Sylva and Murovanka are buffered by territory under our control." Ivan told his father. Reginald was never one for Ivan's tricks; he didn't admire his shrewd tactics or what little ambition his first son was harbouring, but the Sellenland had hurt the monarchy's image on the world stage. Something had to be done to recover Aemen's perceived strength.

Reginald turned to Ivan, his stern gaze piercing deep into his son's eyes. "Your brother, my heir, is currently smitten with the Sylvan King's daughter. I will have to sit at the same table with him and his… brood, and lie. To twist their arm and allow us to bloodlessly take Saxony from under their protection."

"You wouldn't have to father. Appoint me to oversee the transition, let me ingratiate myself with the Saxons and the Sylvans, let me bring our business to theirs so that I can force them under my thumb, and when it's all over… grant me the dukedom. Name me as Duke of Saxony and let me be more than just the disappointment."

Reginald raised his eyebrows, though the rest of his face remained motionless. It was all about the money for Ivan, about finances, statistics and market patterns, so the interest, however small, he seemed to have taken in his role as prince came as a surprise to Reginald. "You? Duke?"

"Yes, as a Prince of Aemen and a Duke of Saxony I can bring another economy to heel for you father, along with acres of land and fresh minds."

Reginald's eyebrows lowered. It was all sweet talk, all a ruse, Ivan was only interested in exploiting Saxony's economic properties and independent business for his own gains. However, the thought of recovering his lost pride was a tempting offer to Reginald, one he certainly couldn't pass up, but that he wasn't willing to throw away just for Ivan. "Fine. I will authorise the Ministry of Relations to begin diplomatic talks with Sylva and Murovanka… you, however, must find support for your venture from among my inner circle. I will not name you as duke without their backing and I will certainly not be convinced of your dedication otherwise."

Ivan grinned, it wasn't often he was able to agree with his father, but there was something in it for both of them this time. "Not a problem, father, I know just the man to talk to first."

 **The Tan House, Fairford, Columbia Commonwealth  
Organized States of Columbia  
9:04 AM  
May 12th, 2015**

" _What exactly am I looking at here, gentlemen?_ " President Ellsworth asked as he looked over the high-resolution satellite photos of the area surrounding what was believed to be the largest Wankan facility of its type constructed to date as the 53-year old took off his reading glasses and looked up at the members of the National Security Staff assembled before him in the situation room.

" _Sir, that is the uncomfortable proof that the Wankans are in the process of building a nuclear weapon. The reactor complex does appear to have the capability to potentially make weapons-grade material._ " the Director of National Intelligence Brian Harper said after taking a sip of coffee. It was surprisingly late in the Morning for a National Security Briefing, but coffee and refreshments were provided nonetheless.

" _And why didn't I know about this sooner?_ Ellsworth replied with some emphasis. Withholding information from the President if proven credible would often be a mistake that would end a career for even the most experienced analysts and Agency executives.

" _Sir, I'll be honest with you, we had no way of confirming that this was even a real facility. We know that there has been several cases of nations building fake facilities to dupe our satellites. Of course, we now know that it is legit. Though we have no HUMINT on the ground, a radiation sensor was set off on one of our Drones on a recent over-flight nearby._ " Harper stated, thereby saving his career. If he had tried to bullshit his way around this, he'd be gone in the blink of an eye. Ellsworth had to constantly replace his staff, he had no patience for people who weren't as direct with him as possible.

" _Are you saying they've detonated a weapon or had a meltdown?_ " the President asked. He did not want to deal with another nuclear crisis within his career.

" _I don't believe they have, sir. If they had done an above ground test, our satellites would have seen it and if they had done an underground test, we would have been able to find it using geothermal imaging and it would have registered as an Earthquake. They may have had a meltdown, but what the sensor picked up was simply normal amounts found concentrated around nuclear reactors._ " Harper replied.

" _Noted. Gentlemen, give me my options._ "

" _Sir, we can strike within 48 hours via OSAF assets in Sylva and OSN assets in the Gulf of Wanka. All we'll need is the go ahead._ " SecDef Pierce Franklin, the newest Secretary of Defense and arguably the most aggressive and jingoist person to ever hold that position. He pushed through two new strategic bomber programs in the course of 5 years along with overseeing the introduction of a major multirole fighter in the form of the F-29 _Sparrowhawk_. The DoD was the largest and most efficient it had ever been, further reinstating OS Dominance over its emerging sphere of influence in the region. However, this resulted in him constantly clashing with his number one rival, Secretary of State James Walker.

" _Sir, we can organize a regional summit. Get Sylva, Saxony, Aemen, and Wanka talking. In two weeks, I assure you, we can persuade them to cease a nuclear program in the name of regional security. The last thing any of them want is a war on their hands._ " Walker said in opposition to Franklin.

" _That's total bullshit. We cannot and will not reason with these terrorists that have gained power there. This is appeasement, sir. And history has shown us that this is no way to confront a hostile power. I'd suggest that we pursue diplomatic action, but only enough to show our resolve to either force them into submission and have them abandon their nuclear program._ "

The President cleared his throat, signaling for the bickering to stop.

" _Gentlemen, I am always a fan of diplomacy, but I believe that the Wankans only understand force at this time. General Farnsworth, I'd like you to prepare a plan for a strike against that Wankan complex. I want this to be quick, clean, and decisive._ " The President said as he looked across the room to the four-star OSAF General who had taken over as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs from Admiral Greenhart following his retirement earlier this year. " _Now, Walker, I want you to stall as long as possible or try for a diplomatic settlement before they advance any further. If not, we strike with everything we have and we hit it hard. Gentlemen, the ball is now in play._ "

 **B-78** _ **Whizzbang II**_ **  
35,000 feet over Whitmin AFB, Midwestern Commonwealth  
0200, May 15th, 2015**

The KC-48's boom was slowly inserted into the fuel receptacle that was cleverly placed to help increase the sleek bomber's stealthy characteristics with a secondary role of helping to streamline the aircraft and reduce drag. The Convair B-78 _Hustler II_ was the newest, most technologically advanced, and fastest bomber in the Strategic Air Command's inventory. She was built in response to a SAC request for proposal for a fast, stealthy bomber capable of carrying a large amount of ordinance quickly and at any altitude. The _Hustler II_ could do anything she wanted to. Fly low as a penetration bomber acting as a supersized F-111, FB-22, or FB-23 or fly high and deliver precision ordinance from stand-off distances. The Hustler and her elite, handpicked crews had become the bane of both the OS Army and the OS Navy in training exercises, taking out ships and buildings with extreme precision.

Major Adam "Bone" Westwood was one of those elite. The Air Force Academy Graduate and B-70 instructor pilot had qualified on the aircraft two years ago with the aircraft's introduction into service. He looked through the gold-tinted windshield at the KC-46's boom retracting back towards the aircraft. With that, Captain Aaron "Hardon" Macantyre, the copilot, closed the fuel receptacle and thanked the tanker crew over the radio.

" _I have the aircraft._ " Westwood said as he took the aircraft into a 30 degree right bank out further from Whitmin and closer to the large range complex that was located on the North end of the base. 58 miles to their North was a small set of buildings and a mock bunker complex that would be hit with two GBU-37/A Massive Ordinance Penetrators. The GBU-37 was the world's largest bunker-busting weapon, weighing in at a whooping 30,000 pounds and was guided via satellite coordinates to the target. It had proven to be a formidable weapon, destroying dozens of large complexes before with the bombers of the Strategic Air Command. After a calm, early morning flight, silently and quickly piercing simulated air defense networks faster than twice the speed of sound at 21,000 feet.

" _Weapon away in 3,2,1. Weapons away._ " the aircraft Weapons Systems Officer, 1st Lt. Michael "Doolie" Strachan said as he released both of the Massive Ordinance Penetrators towards the mock bunker complex below.

" _Confirmed. Weapon away._ " Said the Defensive Systems Officer 2nd Lt. Thomas "Collarbone" Baker as he confirmed the WSO's release, one of his secondary roles outside of managing the aircraft's defensive systems such as flarebanks and other features of Electronic and Defensive Warfare systems installed on the _Hustler II_.

" _Confirmed. Weaponeer. Bingo fuel. Calling for return to base._

 **Dresden  
Saxony**

Sitting in his office in Beckenbaur Palace, the young duke reviewed the events of the last few days that inevitably seemed like he and his nation would soon be the point of ultimate political focus on the entire continent. Duke Mattin rose to take his place as Saxony's head of state only six years ago, when his father, the first Duke of Saxony Frantzisko, was found dead in his sleep. Speculation on Frantzisko's death was a source of interest for conspiracy theorists and apparent ex-intelligence operatives of various foreign dispositions. Though it was eventually ruled out as natural, some still held doubts over the true cause of the duke's passing. Nevertheless, at the tender age of nineteen, Mattin rose to take his father's place.

Mattin set aside all the documents sent to him by the foreign office and decided to sit back in his chair, reflecting on the path that had led him to this torturous and frightening point in his life. It was with a special decree from the Sylvan King, on the advice of the Sylvan government, that Mattin's father, a prominent commander and politician in his younger days, took up the mantle of duke of the new Saxon nation. Frantzisko, weary of the Wankans, used his connections within Sylva and the new Saxon government to headhunt loyal ethnic Sylvans into the top positions of power. They were educated, experienced and dedicated.

The indigenous Wankans, meanwhile, were shafted by Frantzisko and his officials. Whilst they weren't forced to move from their homes, many would say they were victims of 'encouraged displacement' by the government and chose to relocate to the areas closest to the border with Murovanka, forming into groups and fanning the flames of racial tension with the Sylvans, who were able to make their fortunes in Saxony's capital before spreading their ideas to other parts of the country. In the time since its founding, Saxony had become a wealthy, established and pliant entity.

As Mattin sat back in his chair, with the shade of the evening darkening his office, the entrance to the room opened. He stirred, looking to see who had decided to interrupt him. A young woman stepped through the door dressed in a simple but elegant white dress, letting the light from the hallway outside pour in. Mattin could instantly tell it was his wife Terese, the Duchess of Saxony.

Terese walked in slowly and cautiously, she had no reason to be fearful of her husband; he wasn't paranoid, abusive or prone to fits of rage, but she knew of the dilemma that he'd been placed in. "Mattin, are you still working?"

Mattin wasted no time. He stood from his seat and moved towards his wife, comforting her. "Terese, I am fine. The foreign office has just sent me some documents to look over. I'll be ready within the next hour, trust me." He stroked her face and kissed her forehead. Terese and Mattin had been childhood sweethearts, they were in essence the perfect fairytale couple. Terese's family were Sylvans that had always lived within the area of Saxony and her parents were strong advocates for closer ties with Sylva after Saxony's independence was achieved. Mattin and Terese met at the Dresden Academy for Senior Students and have been inseparable ever since. When Mattin was named duke after his father's death, he proposed six days later to his girlfriend and the two were married a year later, a ceremony to which most of Saxony's citizens tuned into and lined the streets for. Four years after the wedding, Terese gave birth to a baby boy, Mattin's son, little Andoni, whose arrival was greeted with gifts from various nations eager to congratulate what was probably one of the happiest families in Septentrion.

Yes, Terese and Andoni were Mattin's world, every moment he spent looking at either one of them reminded him of that, even in heated times like these. Terese took her husband's hand and stared into his eyes, smiling. "My love, did you forget? We've got the Council's Foundation Ball tonight. They can't start without you to open it."

The Council's Foundation Ball. Originally made to celebrate Saxony's independence, Mattin had decided, as his first act as duke, to advise on reform of the electoral system into something more democratic and, with the support of the government, spearheaded the creation of the Council of Representatives. Each councillor represented a 'district' of Saxony with three councillors to a district, many of which were dominated by the Saxon Libertarian Party, a group of pro-Sylvan capitalists who were Saxony's first non-ducal political entity. The Libertarians controlled most of the council, including its most senior member, Councillor Erramun, who held the title of Chamber Regent, essentially the regulator of issues and debates. With such a firm hold on the Council, the Libertarians made sure it was their policies that mostly passed during meetings. The Workers' Party, which shared most of Meinhof's centre-left ideals, was the second largest group in the council and called for more Saxon cooperation with Murovanka and a greater distribution of the country's wealth. Smaller groups from across the spectrum also dotted various seats, though their power was unnoticeable compared to the first two. Whether Libertarians, Workers or else, they would all be attending tonight.

The duke laughed softly, he'd nearly completely forgotten. "Of course, the Foundation Ball. I'll have the attendants organise my work so I can look at it first thing in the morning. You're right, I can't disappoint the councillors."

Thirty minutes later, with Andoni asleep safe and sound in his room at the palace and Mattin changed into a dinner jacket, the couple were in their personal limo with police escort en route to the ball. Mattin, holding Terese's hand, looked out over Dresden as it passed him by. He remembered his father telling him stories of how anarchy at the collapse of the Wankan Kaiser's reign had led to the destruction of so much and so many, how the Sylvans marched forward and fought the Wankans when they tried to expand their rule and beat them back. It was hard to believe that the shining lights of casinos, luxury condos, restaurants and shopping centres were once hollowed shells used as bases and outposts for soldiers. Yet, here Saxony stood, arisen from the ashes. Financially, it had become one of the most attractive nations for billionaires and businessmen, who used the country's lax taxation laws to their advantage. Saxony has since become a major banking centre and enjoys having several Septentrion corporations headquartered within its borders.

It wasn't sunshine and gold for everyone in Saxony though. The Wankans, who made up a sizeable majority of the Saxon population, still weren't any better under Mattin's reign than they were his father's, which was a problem the current government had pledged, but failed, to rectify. All across Saxony, Sylvans were seven times more likely to be employed to high-paying positions than Wankans, despite the fact they made up just over three quarters of the eight million Saxon citizens. Sylvans were also more likely to be prioritised over Wankans when it came to hospitals, education and social care. Mattin had tried to advise his government to do more to address the discrimination issue and, in 2014, signed a cross-party law into action which was meant to lay the groundwork for more progressive policies. Those policies have yet to materialise, mainly due to the attitude of some of the more ultraconservative Libertarian councillors, so many of the more impoverished Wankans continue to loathe their better-off Sylvan counterparts.

The limo slowly came to a halt and the car door on Mattin's side opened. The press were lined up, kept at bay by police officers, on either side of the entrance to the Don Carlos, one of Dresden's most exclusive hotels. Mattin climbed out, straightening his bow tie and smiling at the cameras, before helping Terese out of the limo. The two ascended the red-carpeted stairs and entered into the hotel's lobby. As soon as they were out of sight of the media, Mattin was approached by one Colonel Abene. The colonel was a man of the ages, rough, gaunt and fiercely Sylvan. He was in charge of Saxony's small military, which numbered no more than 150,000 men, with only just under 17,000 being professionally trained, whilst the rest were conscripts or militiamen. Due to the military's size and unlikely use in unsupported offensive warfare, there wasn't any need for the high ranks of generals or marshals, meaning the Saxon military ladder was incredibly small. Mattin, Terese and Abene moved through the hotel's lobby towards the main hall, where the ball was taking place.

"Your Highness, if I may speak with you for a moment?" Abene asked, carrying a brown paper file with him.

"Do we have to do this now Colonel? I'd much prefer to relax for the evening." retorted the duke. He knew what Abene's answer would be, but he always wanted to see if the old codger would eventually relent and allow Mattin to enjoy himself.

"I'm afraid not, sir. It concerns the deployments we've recently made."

Mattin stopped at the entrance to the ballroom, meaning Terese and the colonel had to come to a halt as well. The duke turned to his wife and smiled. "You go on my love, the colonel and I must speak briefly."

Terese didn't say anything, she'd been by Mattin's side long enough to know that when Colonel Abene wanted the duke's attention, he wouldn't stop short of getting it. She smiled and nodded, moving into the ballroom.

Mattin turned to Abene, rubbing his forehead. "What is it Colonel?"

Abene handed the duke the file in his hand and Mattin opened it to see a map of Saxony. It hard been marked to display where the 17,000 Saxon soldiers had been deployed along the border with Murovanka. "As per the Council's directive, we've established a perimeter along the border with the Wankans sir. We've got the militia in reserve if we need them."

"Good. So, what's the problem?"

Abene licked his lips nervously. "It's the indigenous Wankans on our side, sir. The military presence has escalated tensions in those areas, there's been groups organising protests, they think we're escalating the situation by trying to provoke the new chancellor."

"Us? Provoke him? We're trying to safeguard our own borders! Joining the League is supposed to be a means of peacefully securing that!" Mattin declared. It was clear to Abene the duke didn't entirely understand his own people, but Saxony wasn't like Sylva or Murovanka or Aemen, it was a land of multiple cultures, of people who had to coexist for peace to be maintained. Unlike his father, the duke wasn't sure why his people couldn't move on from their past.

"Sir, I admit I am here tonight with an ulterior motive." Abene said, stroking the tops of his knuckles. "I request that you speak to the councillors that represent the districts we are deployed in. The Wankans there elected them, perhaps they will listen to the people they have chosen to be their representatives."

Mattin looked at Abene, unsure of the plan. Most of the districts close to the Wankan border had at least one or two Workers' Party councillors, the most extreme of whom despised the thought of the ducal family. However, if Mattin didn't try something to calm the Wanko-Saxons down, and Sonneborn did live up to his threats, then the Saxons could lose the only men they have that know how to properly use firearms. "Alright, Colonel. I'll talk to the councillors and see what they can do. I wouldn't bank on my success though."

It wouldn't be a surprise to Mattin if the Workers' Party refused to help him. The elections in Saxony weren't known for being particularly fair to the Wanko-Saxons, a trend that was as old as the nation itself. The Libertarians were always returned to power, even when national polls predicted the opposite, which gave rise to accusations of electoral fraud by the Libertarian Party, though the claims have never been acted upon. Nevertheless, Mattin's answer had satisfied Abene. "Thank you, Your Highness. That's all I ask. I'll get in touch with the Sylvan military to request they remain on standby for the moment, though I wouldn't be surprised if they think it a better idea to deploy their own troops to support ours. I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening."

With that, Abene bowed to the duke and walked back towards the hotel lobby. Mattin sighed before looking into the ballroom, if the Sylvans did want to deploy their troops in Saxon borders, Sonneborn would take it as definite provocation and he'd whip the Wanko-Saxons into a frenzy.

There wasn't even any telling what the other nations might be thinking. Mattin had heard whispers that King Reginald of Aemen was looking to play a peacekeeping role in the conflict, something entirely out of character for the Machiavellian monarch, whilst Erquin intended to fund Murovanka for reasons that couldn't be good for him.

All Mattin could do was depend on his allies in Sylva and the Septentrion League to help Saxony in her time of need. For now though, the duke had to mingle alongside those in the ballroom, knowing the stability of his nation potentially rested on what he did tonight.

I'm experimenting with a different writing style here; trying to write more as 'literature' and less of the narrative style we're used to. That just means sad attempts and poetry, more metaphors, and lots more descriptive language. Anyway, I'd really appreciate some feedback on it, and if I should keep this style or revert to the one I'm used too.

 **Blue Palace  
Chandler, Commonwealth of Sylva  
0800 hours**

 _This will not be good._

First Minister Stephen De La Calle had not seen the king in at least a month. Last time he did, the aging King's medical condition was worsening at an alarming rate. Silus IX was only fifty years old, but he looked much older than that of late. A mere shadow of his former self, but still prone to anger when ill tidings were laid before him. And today these tidings were most ill...

With this is in mind he walked, enjoying the mild air and the sounds of life as it overtook Chandler. There was sense of tension in the air, despite the playing children in puddles and in parks, an ominous sense of foreboding that hung like a petulant cloud, a specter intent on bewitching the people, should they prove aware enough to take notice. _When are they ever aware?_

Then came the groves of trees, with their entwined roots and gnarled branches. They stood tall and proud, but crooked like old lords, relics of days long since passed, presiding haughtily over a land nary as old as they. They swung gently in the soft breezes that swept through, making them move like great puppets upon unseen strings. _Can the trees sense it?_

Then came the Blue Palace itself past the long line of trees in their groves. An relative recent, extravagant thing, built in the 19th century during the halcyon days of the Empire. Back then the Empire was still seated at Eagleton – but after the Pan-Septentrion War, and the atom bomb that left Sylva's capital a radioactive ruin and its government in disarray, Chandler, and thus, the Blue Palace, superseded the old city as Sylva's new seat of power. It was made of white marble and accented with blue...blue patterned floors, blue carpets…and the blue uniforms of the Royal Guard. The tall white columns with swirls of blue beckoned him to enter the large reinforced double doors, although the guards standing out front seemed to indicate otherwise.

Stephen stopped and inclined his head before producing his ID and royal seal, which made the guards step aside to let him into the Palace. The doormaster opened one of the large doors, and Stephen nodded in appreciation as he entered. The sounds of chirping birds and the rustling of leaves gave way to a deafening silence, so quiet it was loud. _The sound of silence,_ he thought. For although it was the seat of royal power, it too was a void.

Inside, he looked around at the decadence of the place, the way the light shone in through tall windows to sparkle upon the walls and floors. Stephen looked around and listened for somebody...anybody. Prince Andres, Princess Mariana, Princess Isabella, Prince Salvador, anyone. Alas there was nothing, no one. The Palace stood still and silent as a crypt, like a monument to a bygone era that had no place in the world today, a place frozen in time despite the heat of the summer.

Yet down the hall he walked, past portraits, statues and busts, with eyes that seemed to follow him as he went. One was a massive portrait of King Geraldo III, former King of Sylva, a truly magnificent and terrifying man. As Stephen walked past his portrait, its domineering stone-cold eyes seemed to be cast upon him, watching him as he went, wondering perhaps if the First Minister came bearing good news or ill. Chances were he knew it was ill… _Geraldo always knew._

How somber it felt to Stephen to walk the halls of the past...past relics of bygone days of lore that chances were nobody beyond Sylva even cared about anymore. For what was the world now, but a place where everything was the same? A place devoid of color, of honor or the meaning of a name?

Stephen stopped at the set of doors leading into the King's personal chambers, where the statues of knights of old stood eternal vigil with weapons raised. Beneath them and the high, vaulted ceiling stood several guards who once again seemed particularly unamused. They held out their welcome until Stephen produced his ID again, which led to the them bowing and opening the doors slowly, just wide enough for him to step inside.

Inside, the chambers were dark, the light of the summer afternoon blocked out by the thick curtains that gave way to the darkness of the room that was only slightly offset by the pale light seeping in from outside. It painted the chambers in an eerie light...the kind of light that is meek as it struggles to shine amidst the thickness of the dark. He also noticed that inside it was noticeably colder inside the room – by a factor of at least thirty degrees – which probably had something to do with His Majesty's long list of medical problems. Somewhere in this room lingered the King, somewhere between life and death.

Deeper inside it grew darker still, in rooms that had no windows, and where the only light was provided by tall candles and the gentle crackling from a fireplace. In here Stephen had to squint to look around and see. Some more artwork, a more intimate setting with comfortable furniture and plates of fruit and vegetables. There were some pitchers of drink and some books strewn around, even as the shelves sat in disarray.

It was there in a wheelchair with a dusty tome upon it that sat His Excellency, The Most Honorable, King of Sylva. He his hair was a dull dark brown that was quickly turning grey, and his beady brown eyes cast in a pale, round, fleshy face. When Stephen entered his presence, the King said nothing...perhaps he didn't even know that the First Minister entered the room.

"...Your Majesty," Stephen said as he bowed. "Tis I, First Minister Stephen De La Calle, that requests your attention."

Silus looked up from his book and cocked his head. "...And to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir Stephen?"

"I come bearing news, Your Majesty," Stephen told him somewhat nervously. "News that requires your attention."

"Figures," Silus said, unamused. "Etsa!"

A young female servant emerged from the darkness of some unseen area of the room, and bowed to the King.

"Bring me around, if you would be so kind," he told her with a wave of her hand.

Etsa nodded and grabbed his chair from behind, pushing it forward. That was when Silus came into full view of Stephen. The King was wearing a long, flowing dark blue tunic that went down past his knees...he wore neither pants nor stockings. His feet and hands were swollen with gout, and his fat legs had bloodspots on them, as did his neck. Stephen couldn't help but stare.

"Yes, I know, Stephen...I look like shit," the King said nonchalantly. "And to think that a year ago, I could still walk on my own two feet and feast and be merry. Amazing what can happen to a man in year, eh?"

Stephen smelled the air...it stunk. It stunk of decay, of death. "Yes...I seem to recall you to be in good health..."

Silus laughed, but as he did so he began to cough. "Good health you say...it's been shit for years, I just did a good job of hiding it. Now I can't even fucking walk, so I hide in here...I can't afford people thinking I am weak, old, fat and near death. That wouldn't serve, now would it? And what news do you bring? Let me guess...nothing good. I never get good news anymore...seems like the last good news I got was Mariana announcing her courting by that Aemen fellow."

"...It concerns Murovanka, Your Majesty," Stephen informed him, but not before clearing his throat.

"Oh, I am sure...what did that bastard Sonneborn do this time?" Silus said with tone that was only half serious. "More border exercises? Or is it more of that pointless threatening rhetoric?"

Stephen sighed, knowing it was time to lay it on the King. "This news I bring, Your Majesty, concerns Wanka's industrial complex...and their new ability to manufacture a nuclear weapon."

Silus just sat there in his wheelchair, mangled hands in his lap, staring at Stephen. "...What the fuck are you talking about?"

"...Read this," Stephen said as he stepped forward, pulling a message out of his suit pocket, handing it to the King. Then Silus proceeded to read it as best he could.

After the King finished reading it, he frowned as he struggled to rip it apart with shaking hands. "Fucking bastards! Vermin, the lot of them. Right on our doorstep for God's sake! Etsa!"

The servant girl approached the King's wheelchair once more and began to push him in the direction he was pointing at, which lead to the fireplace. It was only dimly lit, but hot enough for him to toss the cache of classified documents into the fire, which responded to the influx of material with a warm blast of heat. "I would have wiped my ass with it first, but I can't even do that anymore."

"A shame, Your Majesty," Stephen nodded as he approached the fireplace, watching the flames dance as they licked at the letter, turning it to ash. "What do you think of the contents?"

"I think it's fucking horrible," Silus snorted. "One after another. The game is clear...first Reicha got nukes in the '90s, and now Wanka has them...If God is good, He will let me live long enough to make them bleed when they come for us." The King looked at the fire with pondering eyes then. "Julianna was the lucky one, you know. At least it is said that she died quickly. Just a flash of heat and it was all over. Imagine if she had lived...she would see all this shit unfold. Watch the creeping death come...the slow, inevitable approach of change, modernity and all the rest. I wonder what my mother would think...or my wife for that matter...but they're both dead now, anyway."

"Queen Aurélie was sensible, and devoted to peace. Such is the way of the Aurdecois, I would say," Stephen responded. "She would have appealed to the Wankans to orient themselves to peace and prosperity between the divergent groups, and use the nuclear power for energy instead of weapons..."

The King interrupted him. "My daughter was a very gentle, thoughtful woman too, like mother, but it got her killed by those fuckbags all the same. I wouldn't expect Wanka to be any different. The confrontation will be violent, if there is to be one. For we all reach up to deaf dumb and God who never explains, merely painting the world red with the blood of innocents, morbid as that may be."

"The situation is similar to what we had with Reicha in the 90s," Stephen said. "We could try trade sanctions, especially now with the Organized States on our side, but I doubt they would have a serious effect on Wanka's ability to create a weapon."

Silus exhaled deeply. "We could at the very least starve them. The whole damn lot of them."

"We tried that once, with Reicha. Nearly starved them back into the Dark Ages. But that didn't work, it only gave them reason to want one more." Stephen explained. "I also have reason to believe that the Wankans, unlike the Reichans, already have the capacity to build a weapon."

"Well fuck," Silus said. "You think they will use it?"

"If they have an operational weapon right now, and the keyword is _if_ , I believe the Wankans will hold it over our heads as a trump card. No doubt it is a means to an end – I don't believe, like most of the military community, that the nuke was the endgame. No, I believe this is something much more than that."

"Saxony?" Silus asked.

"Yes sir. And possibly the United Territories as well. Undoubtedly one of them – we believe that the Wankans will strike against either by the first frost. Probably the United Territories first – if they invade the UT then our entire northern flank will be compromised, and Wanka will have a clear route of supply and reinforcement from Erquin."

"Well we're in the shitter then, aren't we?" Silus asked him softly.

 _Now,_ Stephen thought, _Time to lay down the real news._ "The Organized States have proposed a first strike. Against the nuclear facility."

"And give Wanka a legitimate _casus belli?_ That's exactly what Sonneborn wants! If we violated their neutrality, we'd have Erquin jamming tanks down our throat from the north! Sonneborn would get what he so craves – a repeat of the Black War, on his terms. And by God, he'll make sure things are different this time around."

"We have the full weight of the SL behind us," Stephen explained. "More specifically, we have the Organized States. We can beat them."

"But can we? Can we really?" Silus asked. "I'm aware of the Duke's wishes that SL forces not be stationed in Saxony. So when Wanka comes rolling through, we wont be meeting them from defensive positions – we'll be forced to engage them on _their_ terms, after the Saxony Defense Forces have been completely steamrolled."

"We should probably leave the strategy to the generals - " Stephen tried to interrupt but the King cut him off.

"And even if we knock the Wankans back into that hellhole which they crawled out of – and I'm not saying we will - Sonneborn will play his ace. And what do we do then? Retaliate? Drop nukes on Wanka? And pray Erquin doesn't jump in? We've been nuked before, Stephen, and the lessons of Eagleton are fresh in my mind. If we get in a nuclear conflict with Wanka the entirety of Casaterra, from the Mozrian Sea to the St. Michael's Strait – is gone. Sonneborn is playing on our humanity, and damnit, its working."

"So you're against a first strike?"

"Yes, Stephen!" He thought for a moment, then continued. "Of course, I'm sure as the 'democratic head' of Sylva you could pass some legislation to allow it and go around receiving my blessing. But as long as I'm King I will _never_ endorse a first strike on Wanka. And I'm afraid our current status as good friends would be forever tarnished should you decide on that course of action."

Silus sighed. "Anyways, I would hope the words of a dying King have _some_ effect on your decision."

"Your majesty, it means the world to me."


	4. The Old Guard Returns

**Quarton Heath  
Aemen  
1:00PM**

"Are you serious, Your Highness?" asked Dr. Arnoud Van Maes, rolling a small ornamental globe around on his desk. Prince Ivan was stood next to Arnoud's bookshelf, half-heartedly flipping through The Studies of the Hostile Collective by Dr. Braam Folcwalding, a book as thick as a brick which delve into the psychological structure of military hierarchy, public persuasion, mass hysteria and dissent. It was decidedly light reading for Van Maes, a former Flight Lieutenant turned Secretary of Applied Sciences at the Ministry of Initiative, who was now the director of Quarton Heath's neurological experiments.

Ivan set the book back down on the shelf. "Quite, Arnoud. You know my father's appointed me head of the diplomatic efforts to quell the trouble brewing between our neighbours. The last thing anyone wants is a war, all we're doing is trying to keep the peace."

"Of course, of that I have no doubt Your Highness, but… the plan the Ministry of Relations have sent me regarding Saxony seems incredibly risky." replied Van Maes. As one of Reginald's trusted men, Ivan needed his support in regards to Saxony and, more importantly, its ducal title. With Arnoud's backing, it'd open up Quarton Heath's resources should the need arise, which meant that many captured enemy soldiers could be 'lost' to the monarchy's voracious appetite for knowledge on their adversaries.

Ivan waved his hand dismissively, eager to assure Van Maes. "Doctor, the risk would be incredibly minimal. As I say, we're not invading, we're not annexing, we're trying to maintain stability. Our intentions are entirely peaceful."

Van Maes stroked his chin, unaware of Ivan's plan for Saxony other than what he'd already been told. "Very well, Your Highness. I'll sign the plans and state my support for intervention in Saxony in order to keep the peace." The Secretary rubbed his brow, remembering his time in the air force. "I recall the horror of the first Sellenland War. I remember the young pilot officers I had to send off up into the mountain skies, never to see them again. You have my backing Your Highness."

Ivan grinned, partly because he'd convinced another of his father's subordinates and partly at Arnoud's bizarre worldview; in the doctor's mind, it was okay to strip men and women of their dignity and subject them to the torture that Quarton Heath harboured, but sending them to war to fight for their country and leaders? Abhorrent. "Thank you, Arnoud. I'll see my father favour you for the Ministry's Lord Secretary position for this."

"You're too kind Your Highness. I look forward to our next meting as always."

"Of course." Ivan turned on his heel, walking out of Arnoud's office and into the company of two Crown Guardsmen who walked behind him as Ivan strolled down a long white and very plain corridor, towards the elevator. This far down into the earth, even the shivering screams of foreign prisoners couldn't be heard from the laboratories on the upper floors. Gabi Mylles, a young attache sent to accompany Ivan during the length of the negotiations, was waiting for him at the elevator doors. "Your Highness, the M.o.R. received this statement from the Wankan Foreign Ministry. They aren't pleased, sir."

Gabi handed Ivan a tablet and pressed the up button on the wall panel. Ivan looked it over, reading the Wankan message. "We'll have to step up the game a bit, anything from the Septentrion League?"

"Not yet, sir."

The elevator's doors parted, allowing the four to enter. Ivan went over the message in his head - it was perfect. The Wankans were already on edge, helped in no small part by their ambitious new chancellor, whilst Saxony's internal tensions between its two main cultures was nearing its boiling point. Once war erupted, Ivan intended for Aemen to be seen as the one restoring order to the chaos, so he'd have to time it right. The only thing that remained was what would push things over the edge; the Wankans wouldn't attack, not without an ace in the hole that would guarantee them victory within Saxon borders and the Septentrion League wouldn't retaliate unless that happened. That was fine by the prince, it gave him more time to pretend he cared.

 **Cottbus | Saxony  
1845 hours | December 20th, 2015  
**

It was snowing heavily. The city of Cottbus, which lay barely an hours' drive away from the border, remained eerily quiet. Despite it being the holiday season, no child could be found outside, no couple strolling alongside the river banks. Street lights illuminated the empty streets, occasionally creating shadows of those who did their shady business deep into the night. A dark blanket, reminiscent of the turbulent days as a front city back in the Wanko-Sylvan war, had descended upon the city. It was a sense of hopelessness, that the region- peaceful for the past half a century, would be plunged back into instability- chaos, anarchy, war. The numerous Saxon Army convoys which passed through the city at an increasing rate only served to reinforce this view, held by both native Sylvans and Wankers.

The motor of a single car, its wheels churning up the snow, rumbled down central Cottbus, parking by a modest-looking house. A man in his fifties climbed out, wrapped in a thick winter jacket. Temperatures had fallen to around -10 degrees Celsius, in an indication that this would be a pretty cold winter for Saxony. A loud _beep_ indicated that his car was locked, and the man proceeded to walk up the stairs to his house. This was no ordinary Wanker; no, this was the General Secretary of the Worker's Party of Saxony, Fritz Gärlach.

Following his movements from an apartment across the house was man clad from head to toe in black. He was an Abwehr operator from the Abwehr's _"Schwarze Staffel"_ ("Black Squad") KKK unit. Officially, like many other secretive governmental organizations which dealt with less-than-illegal missions, it didn't exist.

After several minutes of waiting, a light went on in the study room. Today was going to be the day. After three days of observing and planning, the agent checked his outfit one last time before exiting the apartment and crossing the street to Gärlach's apartment. He approached the gate, where an armed guard stood in his way behind the steel bars. In these turbulent times, this was not surprising. But it should prove to be the only tricky part of this mission.

 _"Guten Abend. Wer sind sie?_ Who are you?" asked the guard, clearly not comfortable with this strangers presence. In response, the agent murmured something inaudible about directions to a nearby street. The guard approached the gate to speak with him, torch in hand. All of a sudden, the strangers hand shot through the gate, grabbing the guard by his jacket and slamming him with startling strength toward the metal bars. Cold steel was pressed chokingly beneath his throat.

 _"Kein Mucks, Schlüssel her."_ ("Not a sound, give me the keys") growled the stranger. Perspiring, the guard obliged, handing the stranger a bundle of keys. _"Dankeschön"_ the latter answered, pulling the trigger. The back of the guards head exploded into red mist. The agent let go, and the guard sacked to the ground. Seconds later, he was in the compound, striding toward the house.

And only four minutes later, he came back out. Gärlach was dead, his neck twisted in a an awkward angle with a long knife stuck through his heart. His wife also lay dead, with two carefully placed shots to the back of the head. On his way out, the agent dumped his Sylvan-made M9 pistol into a bin. Unlike in the Sellenland, the children weren't brutally murdered this time. The Black Squad never killed more people than necessary. With Gärlach, a moderate who had always supported closer cooperation with the Sylvans and Libertarians (while looking favourably at the inclusion of Saxony into the SL), out of the way, his successor, practically the Saxon version of Sonneborn, would rise to the top. This murder would also most likely be blamed on the Sylvo-Saxons, which would almost certainly lead to further tensions and clashes between the two ethnicities. With his wife out of the way too, nobody would make a fuss. The agent quietly made his way out of the city. He would have to assist his fellow assassins in their jobs.

 **Salzberg | Southern Wanka  
1900 hours | December 22nd, 2015  
**

His old heart jumped with anticipation as an old unmarked van screeched to a halt in front of his mansion. It was painted dark blue, typical for a prisoner transport vehicle of the Geheimpolizei, the Wankan internal security agency. The van was quickly let through, apparently, they were expected. The van stopped. Stepping out of the back were two figures in thick jackets, one woman and one man. Clearly Gepo people, the Admiral saw. He couldn't recognise them as both hid their eyes behind a pair of tinted sunglasses. The two agents strode purposefully through the snow, with snowflakes hurling themselves into their faces.

Admiral Kanaris, former Abwehr director and prisoner in his own home, went down to meet them. He was one of the first victims of the coup, quickly interred by Blank's agents minutes before the attempted assassination of Meinhof. His case required caution, as despite Sonneborn's henchmen having infiltrated and cemented control over every aspect of Wankan power, the Admiral had been proven more difficult than usual to dislodge. They knew that he had many supporters and loyal people in the government, even now, and so he was taken into "protective custody" while being investigated for "alleged misappropriation of funds by the Abwehr".

They were right to be cautious, as his contacts had managed to put an Abwehr-loyal mole into the small guard keeping watch over him 24/7. He didn't know it at first, until yesterday, when the guard nearly unnoticeably dropped a small piece of paper as he did his routine check on the Admiral.

 _"Grüss Gott, Herr Admiral,"_ the man greeted with the voice of the stereotypical snobbish and cold Geheimpolizei officer, _"Wir bringen sie ins Badener Zuchthaus. Wir werden sie verhören. Packen Sie für zwei Tage, das wird reichen."_ ("We're bringing you into the Badener Prison. We will interrogate you. Pack for two days.")

The two present Gepo guards looked visibly disturbed. They were used to the fact that people were regularly brought in for "interrogation", more commonly known as straight-up limitless torture, but the Admiral was an old, frail man. Was it really necessary to…?

As it turned out, they needn't have to worry (not that they could do anything about it). Admiral Kanaris, having collected his prepared suitcase, had handcuffs locked onto his wrists and was roughly shoved into the van. Within the warm interior sat two heavily armed, masked men. The door slammed shut and the van drove out of the compound. As soon as they were clear, one of the masked men unmasked himself, revealing, not really to the Admiral's surprise, one of his most trusted agents in the service.

 _"Pierre? Verdammt…"_ the old man gasped, warmly embracing his longtime friend and colleague. After removing the handcuffs, the two fake Gepo officers helped make the ride as comfortable as it could get for their former boss. After they had settled themselves, Pierre began explaining the situation.

"We resigned immediately after your arrest, which turned out to be the right decision. Sonneborn's messing the whole agency up, has replaced the entire leadership with people loyal to him. As I said, quite many operatives and officers resigned or disappeared, and we've regrouped secretly in the darkness. The Gepo is actually hunting us, but they won't catch us. Thanks to you, we know their ways too well."

Both men smiled at that. For the past years, the Geheimpolizei of Laurent Blank had a serious rivalry with Kanaris' Abwehr. They competed for funding, power and prestige, the result of which was that Kanaris nearly always came out on top (helped by the fact that he'd successfully penetrated the Gepo). Nevertheless, he did miss out on the well-organized plotting by Sonneborn and his invisible group, and for now it looked like the one who would have the last laugh was Blank.

"We call ourselves the _Demokratische Initiative für die Konservation der Konstitution_ , the Democratic Initiative for the Conservation of the Constitution. By that we mean the old constitution under Meinhof. Our goal is the reinstatement of the old system, and right now we need a leader. You will be surprised at the number of faces you will recognise, and number of officials within the services that would still answer to you."

"Aha, I see. Now, I've been relatively cut off from the outside world and know little- except for what your friend Friedrich gave me- of what has happened and what is going on right now. Care to explain?" asked Kanaris.

"Long story short, Sonneborn has taken advantage of Meinhof's relative lack of check-and-balances and has turned Wanka into a dictatorship- practically. In the last few months he's lead a massive rearmament program to not only modernise but also to expand the armed forces. Including the logistics and medical service, current numbers are peaking over a million soldiers."

"Dear lord…"

"And he has started to create trouble on this continent. Trouble which hasn't been seen for a decade, or if you look at it from a foreigners perspective, half a century. He wants Saxony back. He wants to carve up the United Territories. Except that he's not doing it the subtle Sellenland way this time, it appears that he wants to go for it directly."

"No way. Million man army or not, the SL will stop an invasion in its tracks."

"Except that they don't see that it's coming. With all the trickery that is going on, nobody's sure what he actually wants. Oh, and he's building a nuclear weapon."

"No god-damn way…"

"The Reichans have been extremely helpful and our dormant nuclear arms program has been rapidly expanding. It didn't turn out too difficult. We have all the resources we need, and the nuclear complex in the south has simply been converted into a site for the development and building of nuclear weapons. It's called Hartek Defense Installation right now. A test of a real weapon is planned for late June next year."

"Alright, alright. So what are you planning to do? How do we launch this counter-coup?"

The van, having reached the forest, turned into a rough side-path before coming to a halt. Kanaris and the two other ex-Abwehr agents climbed out, where a black VW was waiting. The van sped off, heading for the coast. The driver would send it spiralling off the high cliffs. It would take some time for the car to be discovered (if it was not washed away), and would take even more time to fish it out before they discovered that there was nothing, nobody inside.

"A trusted source has informed me that… all plans are ready for an invasion and occupation of Saxony. The only thing we can do is to resist and weaken Sonneborn's administration. Perhaps, by warning the Sylvans and the SL."

"Hold it there. You realise that a conflict over Saxony is pretty much inevitable, and helping our enemies, in that way dooming thousands of our own to their deaths, might not be such a great idea. I'll set this straight. We're going to work _with_ the Sylvans, not _for_ them. They are going to do what we tell them to, not the other way around."

"Glad to have you and your clear mind back, dear Admiral. Age clearly hasn't affected that sharp mind of yours."

"Hopefully not. Something tells me I'll need it in the coming years."


	5. Madness

**Los Olivos, South Carmi, Commonwealth of Sylva  
1100 hours**

 _Madness,_ Sylvan Ambassador to the SL, Juan Carlos, thought. _This is absolute madness!_

The Organized States were pushing the council to vote for a first strike against Murovanka in order to take down its nuclear program. Firstly this implied that the strike would be successful – if it wasn't, who was saying that the Wankans wouldn't nuke Sylva? Did they have a weapon ready? Either way a strike would constitute a violation of Wanka's sovereignty, and therefor, a declaration of war. If the SL struck first against the _Volksrepublik_ , Erquin would be obliged to support its ally and launch an incursion into northern Sylva while the Wankans stormed in from the west. The Commonwealth would become a battleground in a war it neither wanted to start nor believed it could win.

Juan looked around the room. The OS delegate was shouting rhetoric at the members of the council, using vivid hand motions to describe the strike. The delegates from Altagracia nodded in approval, as did the ones from Concordia. Easy for them to agree – they didn't share land borders with hostile nations. Cascadia and Saxony looked suspicious – and rightfully so. War with Wanka meant war with Erquin, and Cascadia was sure to become a prime target of the Erquinian war machine. And Saxony wanted to do everything in its power to avoid war. _At least I'm not all alone in this._

What surprised him was that the SL's General Secretary, Daniel Calabrese, was seeming to go along with the Columbians. Calabrese was a Sylvan – he knew what this would mean for his country! Or, perhaps… _Did he know something I didn't? And if so, why isn't he sharing it?_

It came time for Carlos to make his appeal. He stood, looking around the room. "The Sylvan government is firmly against this proposal. If this goes through Sylva would take the blunt of this conflict. It would put _our_ forces on the frontline, _our_ citizens in danger, and leave _our_ infrastructure destroyed. My King, Silus IX, has expressed the deepest trepidation about this operation, and has instructed both the First Minister and I to avoid provoking the Wankans in any way.

"Ladies and gentlemen, think about what we are talking about here. If we attack Wanka, it means war. War with Wanka means war with Erquin. We would be looking at a Pan-Septentrion War all over again. I needn't remind this council that the first PSW ended with over twenty-four million deaths and a nuclear weapon being detonated _in my country_. We wish not to see this happen again."

"We have reliable intelligence that suggests Erquin will not directly support Murovanka in armed conflict." The OS delegate countered, matter-of-factly.

This caused Juan to pause. "Reliable…intelligence? What intelligence? From what source?"

"I'm afraid that's classified," he rebuttled. "But it is a reliable source from the highest echelons of power in Erquin."

"You Columbians and your damn espionage," Juan said. "We're all allies here – share your source!"

"I don't have that authority," he replied. "But know that it is trusted and reliable."

"Why do you share this _now?_ Why did we not open the discussion with this?!"

To that the OS delegate did not respond immediately. "It was not deemed important…"

 _"Not deemed important?!"_ Juan almost screamed the words back at him.

"Gentlemen!" the General Secretary said, breaking up the argument. "We must remain civil! Be seated!"

Both men sat, arms crossed. Juan glanced over to the Cascadian delegation. They were talking furiously among themselves.

"Members of the Septentrion League," the General Secretary began, "Deliberations have come to a close. I shall review the facts with you all, and then it shall be time to vote."

"In developing a nuclear weapon the Wankans have blatantly violated the ITAPNA - the International Treaty Against the Proliferation of Nuclear Armaments, signed into law by this very council as Resolution 01. This forces our hand in further isolating Murovanka on the international stage - however, with sanctions already in play due to Wanka's continuing aggression towards Aemen in the Sellenland, against the United Territories, and against the newest member of this council, the Duchy of Saxony, this council must decide whether further measures are required."

One of the two diplomats from the Organized States stood and straightened his tie. "Columbia puts forth a motion for armed intervention against Wanka's nuclear program."

"There is a motion on the floor," Calabrese said, and then added, with a bash of the gavel, "All in favor?"

"Columbia votes yay,"

"Altagracia votes yay,"

"Saxony votes nay,"

"Sylva votes nay,"

"Cascadia votes…yay,"

Juan was shocked. _They're trusting the OS on this?!_

Calabrese stood. "And so, it is with majority approval that we sign into being Septentrion League Resolution One Hundred and Thirty Six – the authorization of League military assets to eliminate the Wanka's nuclear program."

With the clash of the gavel, war once again had come to the Septentrion region.

 **COSAF Western Forces Command  
Corbinsburg, Gladshiem, Commonwealth of Sylva  
0530 Hours**

The clash of glass with glass echoed through Western Forces' command center as the room's lone occupant poured himself a generous glass of cabernet sauvignon. Usually Major General John Clarke would have enjoyed a glass of champagne – but champagne was for celebrating, and this was certainly not the time for that. His country was on the brink war - for all intents and purposes, it had already begun – and so a glass of his favorite wine was out of the question. Clarke settled for a glass of cabernet, a 2012 South Carmi blend. Nothing out of his reserve stock, of course – maybe he would help himself to something more rare after this was all over. Provided, of course, he was still here.

The Office of National Intelligence, ONI, had been extremely meticulous when it came to giving Clarke's command reconnaissance reports, at least as far as military intelligence went. He knew the Wankans had an entire shock army – thirteen divisions - arrayed across the Saxon's northern border, with more than a quarter of a million men between them. Most were what the _Volksrepublik_ referred to, in english, as "fusiliers." The actual word origin derived from "fuse," which then became "fusil," the early word for a flintlock rifle. In modern times, the fusiliers described Wankan mechanized forces. The latter half of the Wankan's forces were _"Panzerkorps,"_ or heavy armor formations.

Clarke hypothesized that the Wankans would try and rush Saxony, spearheaded by the _Panzerkorps_ , and steamroll the ill-prepared Saxony Defense Forces. Since Saxony prohibited foreign forces from deploying on its soil during peacetime, he would have to move his army to defend Saxony only when the war began – and by then, he feared, it would be too late.

But Clarke did have an ace up his sleeve – the Air Force. He had hundreds of Sylvan fighter aircraft and an equal number of air forces from the Organized States, which would be crucial if he was to stop the full force Wankan Army. His only hope was to use his air force to slow down the Wankan advance, and buy him enough time to move his land forces into position. If he couldn't…well, the fight for Saxony would be a much longer and much more bloody one.

Clarke had a limited number of forces at his disposal. He had under his command three Commonwealth Armed Forces - Land Forces (COSAF-LF) divisions, the Fourth Infantry Division (Mechanized), the Seventh Airborne Division, and the Thirteenth Armored Division, as well as three armored cavalry regiments, a militia detachment, and a battalion of the King's personal guard. He had divided the divisions into independent brigades, and arrayed them to cover Sylva's border with both Saxony and Murovanka. The plan was for the Fourth Infantry Division (Mechanized) to hit the Wankans where they least expected it – in Wanka itself, in the Upper Seine Valley, where Clarke would be in command (General Sebastian Reyes would have command of the other two).

But the Wankans already had four divisions in the Seine Valley battle area. With only one Sylvan division (and an armored cavalry regiment) he hoped it would be enough. _It had to be._

Clarke turned around as he heard something coming through the door. The General was about to pull out his sidearm and blast to hot hell whoever was sneaking up on him – it was simply, however, his assistant, First Lieutenant Julia Fellows. _Fuck_ , he thought, _I really need to rest._

Fellows was a younger woman, in her early thirties, the prime of life; she had been working with Clarke since before he became a General, and as his career took off, he made sure her's did, too. They had been accused by politicians and officers alike of having a sexual relationship – which was true – but Clarke had a lot of friends within the Acropolis, and as long as he continued to win battles, it was an unspoken rule that High Command didn't care what – or rather, whom – Clarke did in his free time.

"Another night with no sleep?" She observed, sighing. "A few hours of R&R would do you good. Let you think better. Who knows? You may even come up with some miraculous strategy."

"That's exactly what I need."

"What, sleep?"

"No," Clarke replied, letting out a dry laugh, "a _miracle._ "

Clarke fell into a nearby chair, stamina exhausted. She began gently massaging the General's shoulders, as he struggled to relax. Around the room, evidence of Clarke's sleep cycle - or more specifically, the lack thereof. Abandoned half drunk coffee cups

littered the far tables. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, recently opened, sat on the southwestern portion of the map, obscuring a small wax pencil drawing that labeled the location of his headquarters at Corbinsburg. Clarke himself wore a unkept, dirty, and wrinkled uniform, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look twenty years past his age. He looked exactly as he was - exhausted, and quite frankly, despondent.

"We're outnumbered," he confessed. "They gave me a single division. How the am I supposed to beat the Wankan Army - in Wanka - with _one_ _division?!_ "

"You've been up against worse, John," she said. "Those exercises two years ago? You swept aside an armored division with an armored cavalry regiment and three infantry battalions."

"Yes, but those were exercises. And you forget that I won only after loosing nearly three fourths of the men under my command as casualties. That can't happen here. And there are no timebreaks, no dummy rounds – their shooting real bullets now. Any death out there? It's on _me._ My conciseness."

There was a knock at the door. It was Clarke's G2, the division intelligence chief. "Sir," he said, saluting. "Priority one telegram from SL General Headquarters,"

Clarke took the yellow slip of paper.

 _TO : CINC-WEST, SACCAS  
FROM : SL CENTRAL COMMAND  
ENCRYPTION : CHASSE-J_ __

 _AIRSTRIKE ON WANKAN NUCLEAR DEVELOPMENT CENTER SCHEDULED FOR 2300 (TWENTY THREE HUNDRED) HOURS CHANDLER MEAN TIME, TO BE CARRIED OUT BY OSAF ASSETS. ALL SYLVAN AIR AND LAND FORCES SHOULD DEPLOY TO POSITIONS AS PER THE NOVEMBER CONTINGENCY._

 _FOURTH INFANTRY DIVISION TO STRIKE AGAINST UPPER SIENE VALLEY; SEVENTH AIRBORNE DIVISION AND THIRTEENTH ARMORED DIVISION TO DEPLOY INTO SAXONY AT 2330 (TWENTY-THREE THIRTY) HOURS AND ESTABLISH LINE OF DEFENSE ALONGSIDE SAXON DEFENSE FORCES. OPERATIONAL DETAILS ENCLOSED._

 _SUPREME ALLIED COMMANDER CASATERRA TO HAVE OVERALL COMMAND. SYLVAN CINC-WEST TO HAVE OPERATIONAL AUTHORITY OVER ALL SYLVAN FORCES IN THEA_ _TER._ __

 _GODSPEED_

"Well," Clarke said, tossing the paper on to the map table. "Its happening. Anything from SACCAS?"

"Not yet. Though I suspect the Reyes will want to take all the glory." Sebastian Reyes was the Supreme Allied Commander – Casaterra, and Clarke's proffesional rival.

"Of course he will _want_ too," Clarke said. "But we wont let them. How soon can the Fourth get moving?"

"Three hours, give or take. We're already on full readiness."

"Alright then. The objective is Hessen – hopefully, we can force the Wankans to divert forces from their northern front to counter us. So as soon as shit hits the fan, I want the Thirty-Sixth Brigade to move towards Wallis, with the Twenty Third running point, pressuring them from the north. The Twelfth and Thirteenth Brigades move down Blood Gulch towards Bad Eisenach. They'll be covering our flank in case the Wankans bring up their troops covering the Sellenland and the Aemen border."

He looked around the room. "Well, what are you waiting for? Lets get this show rolling!"

 **Max-Bonhöffer-Streitkräfte-Kommandozentrale Nürnberg  
Nürnberg | Volksrepublik Wanka  
1300 hours | January 10th, 2016  
**

"' _n guten Nachmittag, Herr Kanzler"_ said Field Marshal von der Leijen absently as the latter walked into the room. The General and several more officers were peering over a large map spread over the main table, deep in conversation. Heinrich Sonneborn took off his thick jacket, which was wet from all the snowflakes that had smashed into him on the way into the army command center.

"Well, this is it. The final plan, slightly modified to account for the results of the recent exercises." The General was referring to _Operation Schleifen_ , or Operation Sharpen, large scale military exercises, the largest to date, involving over 200,000 troops involving all branches of the armed forces.

"The exercises have shown us that complex manoeuvres are not exactly amongst the strengths of our commanders," he continued, "and so we will proceed with a typical attrition-style war… in a way. We will strike hard and fast, and from pretty much every possible direction. We will make the front impossibly long to defend for the SL. Mr. Chancellor, please take a closer look…"

"It is little different from what we have discussed late last year. In the northern front, First Army will advance into the direction of Chemnitz and will look to surround the vast metropolitan area around Dresden by cutting off their supply lines leading to Leipzig.

"Second Army will conduct a carefully planned river crossing and control the strategically vital Hill 869. It will then proceed to drive toward the El Camino Royal highway and cut the enemy forces in two. The current plan is to then throw a Panzer Corps or two into whatever hole we create in this central front to drive toward Freiberg and then cut north to completely encircle Dresden, where we assume most heavy resistance will be encountered.

"Third Army will push toward Zwickau, quickly capture its vital airport and then drive east across southern Saxony and destroy any remaining resistance on the way, before assisting Second and First in the fight for Dresden."

"Of course, this plan will remain flexible and our Schwerpunkt will be according to what will be deemed most effective and efficient."

"Very good, very good. And when will we be ready?"

"From mid February all necessary frontline forces will be placed on highest alert and readiness. Heavy equipment, ammunition and oil reserves are already in storage depots near the front. Our railway and air transport network army are being drilled. In case of any provocation, be it an artillery strike or gun duel on the battle, we will be marching into Saxony in forty-eight hours."

"Good. I might have something up my sleeve… will notify you in time. Keep me up to date."

 _"Natürlich, Herr Kanzler."_


	6. The Tempered Hammer

**Parliament  
The Acropolis, Chandler, Sylva  
21:00 Hours | 11 March 2016**

It was a role Stephen De La Calle had gotten all too used to, unnaturally so even. The cameras, staring him down coldly. The eyes of his colleagues, all 420 of them, staring at him intently, their anxious anticipation written on their faces. Speaking. Rallying. Bearing bad news, and creating hope. Yes, it was a familiar role to First Minister De La Calle, having done it once before. This time, he prayed, things would be different. Shuffling his papers and clearing his throat, he waited for the camera cue, and began.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Parliament, Mr. Speaker, My fellow Sylvans.

"I address you this evening because the state of affairs of our world is as ever grim, and I feel it important to enumerate certain facts and make known to you what this government, and the Septentrion League, has done in the wake of continued aggression by Murovanka.

"The Wankan government, led by the tyrant Heinrich Sonneborn, stands poised to strike at Saxony, and indeed, our very homeland. Sonneborn, in his twisted sense of irredentism, believes he has a right to Saxony, to the United Territories, and to western Sylva, particularly the states of Cloyster and Gladshiem. His hordes are well-trained, well-equipped, and merciless in their destruction and inhumanity. If any portion of Sylva or Saxony should fall to Sonneborn and his rabble, the devastation on its citizens shall be unthinkable. Wanka has proven itself little better than a rabble of common thugs and criminals, more befitting a prison yard than a nation. They have inflicted countless cruelties upon any who dare assert their natural rights, particularly anyone of Sylvan ethnicity. They have suppressed to some degree the press, the right to bear arms, the right to hold assembly - I am told that there are, even as I speak, government squads going around the nation forcibly confiscating the arms of the citizens who still possess them. Those not submitting to Sonneborn's tryanny are shipped away to camps hidden in the countryside. The Wankans have done these things to their own people, and more. I have knowledge of offenses so cruel and contrary to the human spirit as to make the stomachs of even the most hardened of men turn. I have read stories and seen evidence of atrocities unfit to utter amongst even the rudest of company. The Wankans have done these things to their own people, have planned to do them in Saxony and there can be no doubt, none whatsoever, that given the chance they will do them in Sylva.

"Against this tide of oppression, of cruelty and of despair, stand the forces of the Septentrion League. These forces, and the countries they defend, represent all which Sonneborn despises. Sonneborn despises the notion of free assembly, for his ego cannot tolerate any disagreeing with him. He fears the freedom of the press, for he fears what he would hear if the people were given voice. He fears an armed populace, knowing full well he would not last one day, nay one hour, in a country which could express how they felt about his regime through force of arms!"

"Yes, Sonneborn fears liberty, shrinks from its light as a beast from the fire. This, then, is why he has launched his crusades against his neighbors. Heinrich Sonneborn, the egotistic self-proclaimed general of Wanka, It is not inconceivable that, in this misguided pursuit, Sonneborn will attempt an invasion of our homeland proper should his government survive long enough to assemble one. It is no secret what he thinks of our people: I have been informed he regards us as the scum of the earth, and as he does his other neighbors, views our land as his for the taking. Heinrich, clearly, did not learn a lesson which a good many of us absorbed in primary school: you cannot always have what you want. I say this now, with God and the whole of the nation as my witness: as long as I am First Minister, nay, as long as I live, you will not have a single inch of Sylvan soil.

"To that end, I plan to introduce a bill to my Honorable Colleagues authorizing the deployment of an addition cavalry division to our western border. This is not a recant of my previous pledge to keep our nation out of needless conflict; rather, it is a move vital to the defense of the Commonwealth and its people. It is not inconceivable that should the Wankans succeed in Saxony, our proud nation will be met with the battle-tested forces of Sonneborn's infant war machine. It is imperative, therefore, that Sonneborn be stopped in his tracks in Saxony, shown the error of his thinking through the only language he understands, and compelled to reappraise his desires for empire and nuclear weapons.

"With this in mind I would like to inform the people of Sylva, and those of the world, that as I speak these words, war has already begun. Indeed, at the bottom of the hour our brave servicemen entered the fray against the Wankans by striking at Sonneborn's desires of building nuclear weapons. The Organized States hit his development facility in southern Wanka and I have received word that it now lies in ruin – a precursor, if you will, to his ambitions of remaining the Warlord of Wanka. As such, our forces have struck at his military machine – his airfields, his armies, and his war industry.

"I do not, however, suspect that the we, the Organized States, or the Saxons will be content with merely throwing back the Wankans. No, I know our people, and I hardly believe that the Sylvan tiger, having been rudely awakened from its slumber, will be content with a light meal before it goes back to rest. The Septentrion League, I am sure, will press toward Kronstadt relentlessly, ceasing only when Sonneborn dangles from a gallows as all criminals of his sort should. And we shall do this with the free world at their side. I dare say today that when the hour is at hand to liberate the Wankan people from the fires of oppression, Sylva will stand side by side and arm in arm with the Organized States and the Saxons in the noble crusade. To the Wankans who I know are listening to this broadcast from their illegal radios, and watching via illegal satellites, I say simply this: do not lose heart. Stay strong. Liberation is coming, and it will not be long before you enjoy the freedoms you deserve. I know the Wankan people. They are an honorable people, one which did not choose the thug and tyrant known as Sonneborn. He is an insult not only to the honorable nation of Wanka, but to good, upstanding peoples across the globe.

"Sonneborn, be warned: your twisted dream is not eternal, nor are you, and your day is coming."

 **B-78A** _ **Whizzbang II**_ **  
0100**

Listen to while reading

The green guidance triangles made themselves very visible in the HMD's visor. Major Westwood banked the aircraft sharply through the mountain as it made it's way and low level through the Snow-capped mountains of the Sylvan-Wankan border, silently penetrating the Wankan Air-Defense network at Mach 0.9. It was the low end of what the Hustler II was capable of at this level, but of course, they had to let their escorts keep up. Four F-31 _Mustang II_ s flew top cover. The _Mustang II_ was the sole fighter operated by the Organized States Air Force's Strategic Air Command, and arguably one of the deadliest fighters in the world. She was beautiful and deadly at the same time, carrying with herself with both sophistication and grace with her sleek, striking figure. This was combined with her striking maneuverability, a massive payload, and a killer range, allowing them to fully escort bombers all the way into hostile territory. This, combined with tanker support, allowed Strategic Air Command to reach anywhere around the world and strike any target without having its bombers vulnerable if such a raid required top cover. Despite this, Westwood would always keep the Hustler, she carried sex appeal of her own, and then some.

Of course, if you were a Mustang pilot in SAC, you were significantly more humble than your average _Raptor_ or _Sabre_ jock in TAC or a _Black Widow_ jock in Air Defense Command. Simply put it, at SAC, the bombers were king. Bomber crew-dogs made up the entire Command staff. And that meant, if the bombers were king, then Curtis LeMay was God. Similar to the OS Marine Corps' obsession with Chesty Puller, LeMay was idolized in running cadences, dozens of buildings at SAC bases bore his name, and his picture was hung high in every SAC headquarters from Squadron to Group to Wing level. SAC's new commander, General Clarence B. Arnold was committed to honoring LeMay's legacy, with the new base in Halu'a going to bare his name.

The radio crackled in, the night's silence being broken.

" _Darkstar flight, this is lead. Time on target, 45 seconds. Mark._ " said the pilot of the lead aircraft, that being Lt. Colonel Ron Ackerman. The time had come.

Within forty-five seconds, the flight of four Hustlers came within 4 miles of the facility and began releasing their payloads. The lead aircraft was armed with two 30,000lb GBU-57 Massive Ordinance Penetrators, while the other aircraft were armed with 200 GBU-53 Small Diameter Bombs. These small, 206lb warhead bombs were extremely accurate, capable of being guided into a two-by-two foot window from 69 miles away with the correct GPS coordinates. Within an instant, the thousands of pounds of ordinance were put on target, lighting up the night sky in furious, righteous anger. The Flight of 8 quickly banked quickly to the right and to the rear, coming a full 180 degrees and immediately screaming out of the combat zone at full speed.

 **Hessen, Volksrepublik Wanka  
21:00 hours | 11 March 2016**

Hans Ramirez, an ethnic Sylvan, was stirring, slowly but surely. _My head... what is this?_ Gradually gaining consciousness, Hans realized he had a sustained a large blow to the head. His remaining tufts of aged hair was damp with drying blood. He was missing teeth. Blinking his eyes, he also realized he was near some kind of... was it an oven? His body was riddled with and emitting from every orifice heat. Gaining sight back made him wince at what seemed to be a growing blaze. An attempt to walk gave him more insight to his condition- he was tied to something. Frantic attempts at moving yielded no results but a jolt of pain in his fractured ankles. He could now vaguely make out what was going on around him, squinting his eyes inside his throbbing temple. It was around sunset, but the air was filled with smoke. Surprising himself, he suddenly began vomiting out what felt like were his very bowels- the air was suffocating yet nauseating him, a devilish and ironic combination. "You're awake." Turning to his side, only to rear over in pain from the hardest punch to the stomach he had ever taken, he glimpsed... what was his name... he couldn't think, his most basic of functions were slipping away. Wilhelm Hoch, the indomitable local Party organizer. Asshole. Hans made out the silhouette of his towering stature turn to another. That one's voice he couldn't recognize. He now could hear some kind of chant in the distance.. it was as if he were under water, bobbing just at the surface, catching every few words- no, chants. _A crowd. What is happening?_

"Kommandant of Hessen, presiding over trial of..." Wilhelm shot a look of disgust Amsel could feel under any amount of disorientation. "A Hans Ramirez-Amsel, on charges of: treason by supplying an enemy nation with military secrets, espionage on his good Wankan neighbors, and of receiving and spreading Sylvan propaganda." _What was he talking about?_ "The peoples' court of Hessen has found this person guilty, to be punished by death by most convenient means." The organizer recited the words in monotone, taking no consideration of what he was uttering. It was coming back to Hans now. A loud bang from the foyer. Scuttling through the hallway, his bedroom door flung open. An attempt to resist, futile... a stock blow to the head, and all had been dark until now. What were those charred blocks on the pavement? Why was it getting hotter? Were those...? No that wouldn't make any sense.

Suddenly he was moving up on his- cruficix?! Up and forward. What were they doing?! His feet felt hot – he was burning! But why? What had he done?

Hans Amsel died screaming, surrounded by jeers and laughter, his senses returning as the flames ate away his dilapidated body. Collapsing, he barely made out what the crowds were screaming at him.

"Sylvania delanda est!" _Sylva must die!_

 **Operation : Tempered Hammer  
Forward Edge of the Battle Area  
21:00 hours | 11 March 2016**

Cold, mountainous rain is not the greatest weather to fly in, but the pilots of Operation Tempered Hammer knew they didn't have a choice. The Wankans were preparing to invade after what the Columbians had done to their nuclear facility and at any minute might spill over the border. Western Forces General Headquarters knew they didn't have very much time to try and stem the tide: the recent words of First Minister De La Calle were spot on. _Nobody_ could fault the League for initiating the shooting phase (though some countries would no doubt do so). The danger was too great to stand back and wait. The land forces of Saxony and even Sylva were scarcely sufficient to invade Wanka by land, at least from the Saxon border, and in any case a defeat would lead to the Wankans simply rolling into the country. Therefore, any opening strike would have to be from the air.

The citizens of Saxony and western Sylva - those who could sleep – were suddenly distracted from the First Minister's speech in the late hours by the thunderous roar of aircraft engines. Looking out of their windows, the dark silhouettes of aircraft flying overhead covered the sky. These planes, some Sylvan, some Columbian, some Saxon, and even some Cascadian, to the skies, powering their engines and taking formation. For those watching, it was not an inspiring moment, for they knew that finally, war was upon them.

At the frontlines, troops looked to the skies and heard supersonic booms, watching as dark shapes flew through the night. Some formations took cover as planes flew over their heads a mere hundred feet above the sky, an awesome demonstration of the power of the Si/F-21 E joint strike fighter, colloquially called the Sif. They caught glimpses of ordnance strapped underneath wings and knew that soon, it would all begin.

Operation Tempered Hammer would be conducted in total radio and emissions silence until the first shot was fired. The pilots had been briefed impromptu before, but had all taken part in this sort of operation before: almost all Sylvan pilots, at this point in time anyway, had hundreds of flight hours under their belts. They had been trained by men who had fought in the Black War and other conflicts, and were an entirely professional force. They considered that their superior technology compared to the Wankan air force was furthered by their vastly superior combat experience and training. It was this professionalism that led to the SL Air Marshall taking the risk of launching most of the League's theater aircraft at the same time, _during_ the First Minister's speech, for one large assault. They would take the Wankans by surprise, hit their airfields and troop camps and bridging equipment.

Group Captain Eduardo L. Baxter didn't take the time to peer out of his cockpit at the terrain below. This was something he did on maneuvers, sometimes, but this would require every inkling of his concentration. His Sif-19, an older but reliable aircraft, could fly at extremely low heights; right now, he noticed, it was flying at a mere 32 meters above ground level. His Flight Group of sixty aircraft was tasked to hit three Wankan camps which command had identified as division size, or perhaps larger, each, holding the forces of the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Fusilier divisions of the Wankan army, posed to attack near the strategically vital Hill 869. That meant twelve bombers per camp and six SEAD bombers per camp. He had been assured he didn't have to worry about top cover, but really had no idea and didn't want to entertain the thought of an Wankan fighter diving down on top of him, so put it to the back of his mind as his computer beeped that it was time for the next waypoint. Flying at such a low height, they would be detected by ground radars too late; any anti air installations spotted would receive an anti-radiation missile or a laser guided bomb to the face before they had time to respond, if they even did.

As Baxter crossed the border, the shooting began. A hundred kilometers behind him, a hundred and twenty B22 Barringers, all of Sylva's strategic bomber wing, had taken to the skies. Their missiles were pre-programmed via GPS, and their purpose was not one of a precision attack. No, their real purpose was to disguise the sort of operation that Tempered Hammer really was. Each of them launched twelve missiles which were distributed between all the airbases on the frontline bordering Saxony. With any luck, these missiles would find their targets in the form of runways and air traffic control, frustrating the Wankan efforts to properly organize resistance to this short strike. As the missiles streamed over the border, it became immediately clear that SL was not going to take the Wankan threats sitting down. From half a dozen large radar aircraft sitting comfortably over Sylvan territory, an effort to attack electronically the Wankan lines of communication began. Barrage after barrage of radio interference and jamming flooded the airwaves, further hampering their ability to coordinate a counterstrike and give their high command a clear idea of what was happening.

To cover the low-flying strike bombers, the Saxons had scrambled nearly all their fighters and split them into two groups, one of which was now streaming over the border, looking to tie up patrolling fighters from attacking the bombers on their way back. It would take only ten minutes for them all to dispose of their ordnance and head for home, which would be enough to take the Wankans by surprise on the way in, but perhaps not on the way out, and so SDF-AF had committed her fighter elements, on an assurance of assistance from the Organized States and Sylva to defend her skies.

Baxter could see the camp now; a typical, rapidly assembled thing, to house men and supplies in preparation for an invasion. "Well, we'll see about _that_ ," he said to himself, pulling his aircraft up and engaging the toss-bomb calculator. At a range of 28 kilometers, he and the rest of his squadron released three two thousand pound fuel air explosives each and returned to their previous flight path, heading for home with fingers crossed they wouldn't be intercepted. All across the frontline, Wankan troops would be waking up to a nasty surprise in the night; the eight camps of the eight Wankan divisions arrayed along the Saxons' northern border had been targeted with the same attack pattern. That so many bombs were used per camp meant that a percentage of the fuel from the bombs would be ignited, creating a gigantic firestorm over each camp and starving the occupants from oxygen, if not knocking down their barracks with the troops inside. Thermobarics were judged the best way to kill a large amount of men using a small amount of ordnance. Looking at the results in his mirror, Baxter agreed, and only prayed that he had not been a sacrificial lamb in a risky demonstration.

As he turned, and as Sylvan fighters danced in the sky with stilettos of death, he knew that the second group was coming in. But they had a different target. The next twelve squadrons of aircraft were from the Organized States, and were flying over the border, towards two targets – Gladbach and Hessen, both of which were vital crossroads. If they could destroy the railyards and interstates, it would severely hamper the Wankans' ability to reinforce. Following the same pattern as the first strike group, these planes were instead loaded out with an array of bunker-buster weapons, to be delivered in the same fashion.

It had been a tense five minutes as Baxter had used his low flying skills to dodge missile after missile and flak round after flak round. A large portion of his squad mates had not escaped – these weren't the Concordian insurgents, whom had only free-fire rocket launchers. The Wankan air defense system was advanced, and extremely accurate. He glanced at his Friend-or-Foe display and watched as aircraft after aircraft fell from the sky. The attrition rate for Operation : Tempered Hammer was nearly fifty percent of all the forces involved – the worst Air Force losses in Sylvan history.

On his return flight, the flak became too much. He felt a jerking sensation and a loud crash as a missile exploded right beside his fuselage, and the cockpit became a blur of smoke from the exterior and loud beeping sounds. Losing control, Baxter pulled a map from his chest pocket and located the nearest empty feild to his location whilst trying to bring his plane back under control. He was going to stay alive. He was not going to die today, not on the first day of the war. _He had to make it…_

The otherwise blank screens of the Aspect AWACSs across the northern frontier gave a jolt of surprise to many a stirring operator, as the emptiness was filled with a swarm of red blips. Hostiles coming our way- a rather high amount of them, to complicate things. As if in some kind of telekinetic unison, the minds of the said operators simultaneously had a simple two words to them. _Of course..._

The some hundred fifty pilots of their Wankan interceptors heard a shrill few tones in their collective ears, now listening intently for their new orders; their own radars were powered down to prevent the Sylvans from sniffing out their emissions, leaving the AWACS to be their eyes. Something interesting instead of another patrol mission? Beautiful as it was, rolling hills and snow capped mountains could get boring after maneuvering in them for a few hours. Heinz Fannburg was one of these such pilots, complying eagerly and guiding his bird in pursuit of this new menace. Not far from the border in flyboy terms, an upbeat beeping signaling him to push down enthusiastically on his favorite red button on his joystick, sending two trails of white smoke in their wake as two ATAIM-9s honed in some poor Sylvans, hoping to add a low-flying bomber to the landscape below. They were some eighty miles away from their targets- well inside of the ATAIM-9s no-escape-zone, their targets still well inside Saxon airspace. The second he squeezed the trigger, the poor bastard on the other end was essentially doomed.

Meanwhile on the ground, installations on the ground let fly their stocks of the heavy, long-range SAMs towards the League's AWACS, hoping to blind them in the sky, as an eagle would in scratching the eyes out of the admittedly larger tiger. Screaming through the atmosphere, chasing their prey's radar and (if they started it at that point) jamming emissions like a scent and a trail, the tubular beasts set off with wild furor towards their assorted targets. While streams of smoke descended upon the Wankan countryside, the very earth fought back, dotting the air with its own missiles hailing back towards the instigator.

In the meantime, electronic warfare aircraft began to initiate heavy comms and datalink jamming against the Sylvans to prevent them from coordinating against the hellfire that was about to descend upon them; at the same time their jamming pods went to work, though instead of actively barrage jamming (which wouldn't have been terribly effective against the modern radar fielded by the AWACS) their foe in the manner of the Sylvans, elected to use their sophisticated EW pods to create many false radar signatures in order to confuse their enemy and distract them from the true threat, which would have been far more difficult to spot on radar.

The groups of fighters scattered around the area of contention split off into three distinguishable prongs, some heroically staying behind to swat out of the sky as many foreign cruise missiles as they could, while another two squadrons, including Fannburg's squadron, made north and up, bearing down on the SL's strategic bombers, the former caches containing the cruise missiles gliding down on the fatherland, lobbing more ATAIM-9s their way as they tried to flee before diving down towards the approaching fighters; the third group of fighters had already rushed to engage them with short range IR guided missiles after expending their payload of eight ATAIM-9 medium range missiles, and so the SL would now likely find themselves attacked from multiple angles by what at this point was a now more-numerous and difficult to detect foe.

Making a swerve up and left in coordination with his fellows against the soft patter of rain on the glass enclosure of his cockpit, Hermann was positioned to swoop in on any escorting fighters, coming down at his target and firing as he got a lock on, cheering as he sent it downward in flame with his short-range IR guided missile. Poor bugger probably hadn't even known he was nearby considering their stealth and his enemies' relative shortage of AWACS.

Glancing down, the brave airmen could see the flares of bright bluish-white streams emanating from the ground, as passively guided AA guns locked on to the intruder with their thermal imagers and laser range finders and spat out a highly accurate burst of 45mm AHEAD, accompanied by (albeit not visible in this dark and stormy night) low level, highly-accurate SAMs as they ripped at anything crossing the border. The latter had been provided (clandestinely) by the Achesian government, with the intention of testing the new technology for use _against_ the SL – they would be extremely pleased with their results, as over half the League's planes involved in Operation : Tempered Hammer were damaged or destroyed.

Perhaps the AWACS had been wrong in their gut feeling of initial dread- perhaps here they could earn the chance to march into Saxony unmolested from the air. At worst yet another attack prior to declaration of war would offer plentiful propaganda opportunities.

 **The Suburbs  
Soldado Del Sol, Commonwealth of Sylva  
Some time later**

Andrea Baxter was going through her typical morning routine; shower, then breakfast, and it was working fine. Sitting down at the breakfast table in her silk dressing gown, she munched through some cereal while watching the television. Footage of jets and reporters... "We have been informed that the Air Force, alongside the Organized States and Saxony launched an air offensive last night... thousands of Wankans rumored to be dead... in response to alleged Wankan scouts crossing the border... First Minister De La Calle warns Sonneborn..." she sighed and ate some more cornflakes. Luckily, little Carlos was still in bed. Hopefully he would stay that way until her parents came over later to look after her twelve month old boy while Wendy and her brother, Jeremy, would go shopping for birthday presents: it was, after all, Carlos' third birthday tomorrow. With Andrea's husband out fighting in Saxony, her brother had stepped in as the man of the house. As she finished the bowl, Jeremy entered the room solemnly.

"Andrea," he said.

"Yes, Jeremy?"

"Somebody at the door for you."

She stood up and tightened the belt on her dressing gown before coming to see this visitor. Who was calling at this hour? She would scarcely look respectable in only a dressing gown... she hadn't even done her hair yet. She opened the door and her jaw dropped. A young man, barely twenty - five years her junior, though - stood to attention in a military uniform. Holding a box. With a flag over it. She clasped a hand over a mouth.

"Ma'am," he began.

"No," she murmured.

"I regret to inform you that your husband was killed in action at approximately 10:30 last night. His aircraft went down behind Wankan lines. Both crew have been reported as lost."

"Please tell me..."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The medals will be delivered via post in the next week or so."

Her eyes exploded in a flurry of tears. "He promised..." It would take days for the knowledge that she would be a widow and her son would be brought up fatherless to set in. Just the day before she had sat with her newly born baby and pointed to a plane soaring through the sky and whispered the words _that's your daddy up there... that's right, he flies one of those planes, and he's going to protect us._ Well, no more.

Group Commander Eduardo L. Baxter threw his signal receiver to the ground. "Piece of shit," he spat. It was supposed to broadcast a wide signal informing that he was still alive. Except it had broken; either on the fall, or it had never worked in the first place. Now he was alone, thirty klicks behind enemy lines, with fires raging not so far away. The Wankans would probably be all over him. He could hear dogs barking in the distance and shouts in German which he didn't understand. Abandoning his chute and anything he didn't need, Baxter followed the terrain and walked for some time. Entering a wood, he shortly lost his direction. The dogs were getting closer. Flashlights lit up the sky around him. The bastards had seen his parachute, for sure...

"Negerschutzer, negerschutzer!"

Baxter turned around to face four rifle barrels and the muzzle of a particularly angry German shepherd. He dropped his pistol to the ground. _Damn_.

 **Leipzig, Duchy of Saxony  
23:00 hours | 11 March 2016**

As soon as the Sylvans launched their massive air assault on the Wankan Army, the commandos of Kopa Kopa and their Abwher agents within the country began to move. The Abwher had a complex system of partisans within the country that, as soon as receiving word, gathered their arms and began moving to preselected rally points across the country. Saxony had no sort of gun laws, in the Sylvan fashion – as such, these partisans were not only much better equipped than their brothers in the Sellenland but also better trained on using them. And since many Wankans in Saxony kept the _jager_ tradition of hunting alive, they knew the country's backroads, forests, and hills by heart. Furthermore, the open recruitment of Saxon citizens (including ethnic Wankans) into the armed forces and the national militia meant that a large number of enemy combatants were hidden away within the Saxon Defense Forces, sometimes even as officers. The human intelligence given by them to the _Abwher_ gave the Wankans a very clear picture of what was happening on the ground – in some ways, an even better one that the SL's complex network of satellites, drones, and recon aircraft did.

One such case was the Saxon militia defending Leipzig. Of the eight-hundred Saxons that made up the militia nearly half were Wankan sympathizers, including the group's executive officer. As soon as word was given by the _Abwher_ , they went to work. The XO was the first to move, walking into the command tent with a fully loaded sub machine gun. The two guards in front of tent, sympathizers themselves, cast a blind eye to the carnage that followed, as hollow point ammunition tore into the group of loyal Saxon officers in charge. The XO then preceded to tell the militia over the intercom that a spy was among them; and instructed all of the militiamen to deposit their weapons at the supply depot and arrange themselves on the parade ground.

The XO and his entourage of (armed) guards then split the militia into two groups – ethnic Wankan and Saxon. The XO then "cleared" the former group and armed them again; much to the distress of the first group, which audibly challenged the XO and began to move against him. During, but not because of it, the Saxons were ripped into from all directions with a hail of bullets. However, the Slaughter of Leipzig, as it was to be called, was not over yet. A dozen of the Wankans were also shot, for not cooperating with the XO's orders to mow down the Saxons.

The militia, now roughly at half strength but now completely Wankan, then preceded towards the airbase at Leipzig. They instructed the armed guards at the front of the base that they were there to help in case of partisan attack, and were let inside the walls; then they took up "defensive" positions around the airstrip. Some in the militia were skeptical of the orders – why were they not attacking the airbase? Why continue the façade? But the XO (now CO) and his officers calmed them down.

The Wankans fully expected the Sylvans' first move would be to deploy airborne units to Saxony in the form of the 7th Airborne Division and the 20th Combat Aviation Brigade. The latter was primarily made up of helicopter gunships and ground-attack aircraft of all types, and was one of the first units to arrive in Saxony. It's job was to provide close air support to the other Sylvan units crossing the border into Saxony, and, ironically enough, defend them from Wankan partisans that might try and sabotage the route.

The 20th Combat Aviation Brigade began touching down at Leipzig at 02:30 hours; by 04:00 almost all of its assets had arrived, and the brigade was doing final checks on their aircraft before launching again to help cover the rest of the Sylvan army still crossing the border. The base garrison had relaxed – nothing had happened that riot police couldn't and didn't handle. And that was when the militia struck. Suddenly, the militiamen stormed the airfield and began shooting at the pilots and their grounded aircraft. Fuel tanks and munitions that were being loaded on to them exploded, causing even more chaos. The garrison and the Sylvans didn't know who to shoot, and so, at first, shot at one another. In that ten minutes the destruction and chaos only grew. Police forces attempted to help the airbase; they were then included in melee. Quickly, however, the garrison and the Sylvans realized the enemy and began focusing their efforts on the militia. Some of the Sylvans even got their gunships airborne – with air support, the militia was caught in a brutal crossfire and quickly was overrun. Fifty or so of the militiamen surrendered – most were wounded in some way or another, and by 05:30 all the fighting had stopped. However, the fight had left nearly a hundred Saxon and Sylvan soldiers dead. More importantly, nearly half of the 20th Combat Aviation Brigade's aircraft had been destroyed, including the formation's only AC-130. Furthermore, the airstrips themselves had been critically damaged and were littered with the hulks of burning aircraft, and, perhaps most crucially, the air cover for the Sylvan and Organized States soldiers crossing into Saxony was suddenly and decisively crippled.

 **First Reconnaissance Battalion (Rangers)  
Western Cloyster, Commonwealth of Sylva  
23:30 hours | 11 March 2016**

Even from within the confines of their Fastback infantry fighting vehicles the men could feel the ground shake. Though it was many miles away, the impact of the artillery shells against their target, the Wankan firebase, served as a comfort to the men. The First Recon was serving as the vanguard of Thirty-Sixth Infantry Brigade Combat Team's (Mechanized) advance into Wanka, a duty they considered an honor as well as a burden, the lot of them fully expecting to die in the coming weeks due to their position within the vanguard. They were no strangers to mountain warfare: the senior NCOs and officers had fought in the Cascade Mountains against the Erquinians during the skirmishes of ten years' past and had seen combat in numerous parts of the globe since. The First Reconnaissance Battalion, recruited out of the mountains and forests of Cloyster, Gladsheim, Smargovia and Sierra Sylva, were undoubetldy the best-equipped force in the Sylvan army for mountain warfare.

For the past six months the battalion had trained in Cascadia for the coming campaign; they were as well prepared as one could be. This was enemy territory, and the enemy knew his land well. The Wankan was a respected foe; the men of the First Recon knew that the men that lived in these mountains would not give up easily, that they would sew the valleys and forests with mines and boobytraps, that they would lay elaborate and vicious ambushes, just as they had done in the Sellenland. This the Sylvans expected and had trained long and hard for: they were Commonwealth Rangers, second to none on the fields of war.

Captain Samantha Palmer was commander of Able Company, just months out of the prestigious Academia Militum where she'd graduated near the top of her class.

The Sylvan military had always relied on its system of plebian officers, recruited from the enlisted ranks and sent to OCS where they would be trained to become lieutenants, and later captains, giving the Sylvan army a strong corps of highly experienced junior officers in its combat units. Patrician officers graduating from the Academia and other institutions more often than not ended up in non-combat units, or as helicopter pilots. For the most part, it did an excellent job of creating officers for the Commonwealth.

Palmer thusly considered herself very lucky to have made it even this far; she'd arrived in Cascadia three months prior to join her unit in training, and had taken under the tutelage of his the XO, Major Fawkes, a grizzled old veteran who had at first been wary of the new young officer, but had taken it upon himself to see to it that he wouldn't get them all killed due to lack of training. Fawkes had been relieved to find that Palmer had a good head on her shoulders.

Palmer was crouched beneath a tent alongside Fawkes and the other company commanders. The men wore digital style camouflage fatigues and berets, as was the custom of the First Recon, the butts of their RBL rifles dug into the ground beside them (for a Sylvan never left his rifle behind whilst on campaign, no matter where he was going), their flak jackets and web gear left in their vehicles. Their battalion CO, Lt. Colonel Matthew Pascal, was busy moving his plastic tanks bought from a toy store some time before around the sand table that sat in the middle of them all. He ran a tight ship and the men trusted him with their lives; he was another vet and had earned quite a few medals along the Erquinian border. Though he pushed his men hard, he was a pleasant enough fellow when they weren't training or killing anybody. At this particular moment however, he was deadly serious, and that set the tone of the briefing around them.

"Our objective is the enemy firebase at grid coordinate 125-469, Hill 1172," he pointed at the little hill he'd made on the sand table, repeating the coordinates for everyone to hear once more before continuing, "On my orders, the First Recon will advance through the jungle and assault the southwestern face of the firebase in support of the rest of the Thirty-Sixth BCT. The firebase will be assaulted and infiltrated prior to our attack by heliborne forces of Twenty-Third Combat Aviation Brigade. The commander's intent is for our battalion to breach Wankan lines and link up with the Twenty-Third CA so that we can move against the bulk of the enemy force west of us, the Twenty Ninth Division.

The enemy at Hill 1172 is currently under artillery bombardment and is estimated at no more than company size. The enemy is expected to have medium artillery in the 105mm range, as well as mortars, crew-served weapons, regular small arms, and rocket propelled grenades. Our intelligence," he paused, with a small smile, "suggests they have new Achesian SAMs as well as AHEAD guns, so air support will be limited. The enemy is dug in, and satellite intelligence says that Hill 1172 is honeycombed with tunnels in addition to the artillery we can see at the top of the hill. The enemy is expected to resist fiercely upon contact.

Attached units include B Troop, Second Battalion, Thirty-Sixth Infantry Brigade consisting of six Trojan main battle tanks and ten Fastback infantry fighting vehicles for armored reconnaissance ahead of our advance, and four MPM combat engineering vehicles from the brigade's Terrain Support Battalion."

He continued on in the dry, methodical manner, going on to inform Palmer that her company would form the battalion's right flank, detailing dozens upon dozens of contingencies, and going on for a good ten minutes on the different radio frequencies that would be used. The First Recon's attack was meant to neutralize this firebase, which threatened the advance of the entire Corps into Wankan territory. Dozens and dozens of similar operations would be taking place all along the border as artillery pounded away at the firebases with penetrating and air bursting thermobaric shells and submunitions-carrying rockets in order to suppress the defenders and clear the tops of the firebases for oncoming heliborne troops, whose job it would be to hold the line until ground troops could break through to them. Enemy troops could then be flushed out of the tunnels with thermobaric weapons and, if need be, nerve gas.

However, such a dangerous assault was only to be launched as the last resort; prior to the heliborne forces taking off to attack the firebases, the Sylvans would be called on to surrender over various radio channels and threatened with ground-penetrating ordnance. Should they fail to comply, fighter-bombers would deliver bunker buster munitions against the firebases, hopefully destabilizing the tunnels and killing the inhabitants; only then would air assault troops commence their landing.

It was hoped that the massed concentration of air and artillery power would crush the resistance of Wankan firebases swiftly; they were the enemy's main defense against the SL advancing through the highlands, and if they could be suppressed and taken, the Commonwealth's forces could advance relatively unhindered. Much faith was being placed in the COSAF-AF, the Commonwealth Armed Forces Air Force in their ability to neutralize the enemy's air power and provide close air support for the boots on the ground.

Finally, Palmer stood and the meeting concluded. The attack would begin at 0630, just before sunrise on 12 March 2016.

 **SS-117** _ **Soldado Del Sol**_ **  
Crimson Sea  
01:00 hours | 12 March 2016**

The calm blue waters of the Crimson Sea washed over the sides of the mighty _Puedo Del Sol_ as she cut through the waves of the dark morning. From the pilothouse, one could see the lights of her escorts twinkling in the darkness against the waves. A clear sky of stars was open above the Crimson, and visibility was perhaps the best it had been in weeks in this part of the sea.

"Receiving a flash communique from the Admiralty, sir," a communications officer declared to the officer of the deck, "It's a flash bulletin for the Admiral."

"Forward it down to his command section. None of our business."

"Aye, sir."

The _Soldado_ , although not the flag of the North Sea Fleet, was a major task unit within the fleet and flew the flag of Rear Admiral Wyatt, who often assembled under him a grouping Task Group for exercises at sea. The _Soldado_ , however, had never fired her torpedoes or missiles in anger.

That was about to change.

A short rapping on the door stirred Wyatt from his slumber. Rising, he donned his navy-blue robe and slippers and slowly marched across the ornate cantonese rug which adorned his floor groggily. Many commanders purchased goods to decorate their quarters with in foreign lands; Wyatt was no exception, having a particular interest in the Canton Territories.

The Admiral swung the hatch open carelessly, barking out in a gruff voice at the man who interrupted his sleep.

"What the fuck you want at this hour?"

"Priority message from Chandler."

"Oh?"

Wyatt snatched the paper from the young man's hands, and read it aloud in a half-mumble.

"Orders for Admiral Albert Wyatt. You are hereby ordered to gather under your command the units of the Fourth Task Force of the Crimson Sea Fleet and make contact with allied assets of the Organized States and Altagracia in the region as soon as possible. Wankan vessels are to be considered hostile and should be treated using your own discretion; you may engage as you wish. The Fourth Task Force is to violate the Achesian Naval Exclusion Zone and proceed into the Gulf of Wanka to target hostile military vessels and select locations on the mainland.

Beware of Achesian submersible, surface, and air vessels in-region. You are not cleared to engage any Achesian vessels unless fired upon. Good luck, and Godspeed."

The aging admiral let out a sigh, and tossed the paper to the side into a wastebasket.

"You're from my command, right?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good. Warm up a pot of coffee for me and tell them I'll be over in ten minutes. Start searching around for the highest ranking OS officer in this part of the world that you can find and get him on the line, and start making calls to get a joint submarine task force together. Subsurface ships only. Oh, and be sure to let that _caberon_ of a captain upstairs know what's going on."

"Of course, sir."

"Now where the fuck I leave my pants," the admiral remarked while turning back towards the interior of his quarters.


	7. Crossing the Weser

**First Army | Northern Sector  
Near Kreuzberg | Volksrepublik Wanka  
0000 hours | March 12th, 2016  
**

It was completely dark. All lights were off, except for those mounted on the long column of military vehicles which rolled toward the border. It was dry and cold, and not a sound could be heard other than that of the crunching mumbling of tank tracks stirring up clouds of dust all around them. Over a day had passed since the Septentrion League had bombed the Hartek nuclear complex, and while hardly a shot had been fired since, it was clear that war had once again broken out on the continent. According to radio updates, the Wankan public understood that the SL had effectively _nuked_ them. The complex was crowded with decontamination teams, the city of Schwaben was being evacuated along with its surrounding towns and villages. Several hundreds were killed directly by the bombings, and thousands more, all civilians, were wounded and suffering from the aftermath of the explosions, according to government radio reports.

The entire nation was under martial law as Sonneborn prepared Wanka against something that he'd clearly long anticipated: the invasion by the SL. Oberleutnant Dani Darmietzel took a deep breath of the clear and clean air as he scanned his surroundings with his night-vision goggles. He, like all other soldiers of his platoon, couldn't believe what was happening. Simply put, they couldn't figure out _why_ Sylva wanted to destroy Wanka so badly. It didn't make any sense at all, but Sylva had bombed them, and was rapidly moving troops into Saxony. That was clear, hard evidence and the twenty year-old lieutenant knew that he would soon get a taste of what it would be like to be fighting in a real war.

The panzer battalion, as part of the 10th Füsilier-Division deployed to the northern Wanko-Saxon border to repel the SL advance, rolled through the quiet town of two thousand inhabitants. Coming in the opposite direction in a sporadic manner were lone civilian cars, trucks and other vehicles, packed full with all the belongings its owners had. Desperate Saxon civilians, mostly ethnic Wankers, looking to flee the oncoming storm. Tens of thousands had crossed in the past few days until Wanka started to limit the influx as the authorities struggled to handle them while keeping out of the way of Wankan military activity. Refugee camps had been set up which were now dangerously overfilled and kept on growing. It was no different in the south, where Third Army divisions were being badly delayed by heavy jams along roads caused by fleeing civilians.

He took a closer look at their faces as their puny cars, with luggage strapped on all sides of the vehicles, drove next to the massive Wankan war machines and the anxious-looking armed men and women manning them. A regimental air-defence battery followed the tanks, their radars hungrily searching the sky for enemies. Followed at a distance by several mechanized infantry companies riding in their new, shiny SPz-12 "Terrex" infantry fighting vehicles which probably had just recently came out of the factories.

 _"Wanka, unser'm Vaterland.  
Alle Völker sehn' nach Frieden,  
Erhebt euch Wank'sches Völkerschaft!  
Von der Verga bis zur Eile,  
Von der Allgäu bis zur Seine  
Lasst uns v'reint beisammen stehen  
Dass nie mehr ein Feind sich wa…"_

The Gepard crew's patriotic humming was rudely interrupted. The completely dark, silent landscape around him was suddenly brightly lit with massive explosions. Before the First Lieutenant could recover from the shock, loud roaring filled the air directly above. Several red-hot missiles swooped down from the black night, heading directly toward them.

 _"VERDAMMT…"_

They weren't, however, coming for the tanks. The armor crewmen jolted in their tight spaces, his driver smacking his head onto the ceiling, as explosions only meters behind rocked the earth, sending dirt and dust swirling into the air. As the air cleared, the burning hulks of what was formerly the air-defence battery and its radar, could be seen. Simultaneously, a pair of Sylvan Sif-19s roared past so close to the ground that Darmietzel caught a glance of the pilots flying them. Autocannon fire erupted in the rear of the convoy as the Wankan IFVs fired desperately, shells longingly lunging for the Sylvan aircraft, which proved, naturally, futile. Darmietzel took a look at their surroundings. All around, the once peaceful countryside had come alive. Large fires burnt where once fuel storage tanks had stood. Warehouses stood aflame and distant gunfire and screams could be heard. The air above, however, remained strangely dormant- other than the occasional convergence of missile and fighter aircraft which occasionally lighted the sky.

Who came out on top in Operation Tempered Hammer would soon prove to be a subject of debate for future history students. Not that the garrison of the Potsdam Airfield cared, as they were far too busy helping to salvage aircraft, the wounded and dead bodies along with trying to stop the fires from reaching the missile and fuel depots. The Max-Bonhöffer Air Force Base, amongst the biggest and well-protected Luftstreitkräfte (Air Force) bases, was also temporarily put out of action, its buildings and runways saturated with so many high-tech missiles and bombs in addition to antipersonnel mines which ensured that it would take a long while for the base to become operational again. The First Army, covering the Saxon northern sector, had its entire logistical system completely obliterated. The four divisions barely had enough fuel to perhaps cross the Saxon border- when they'd have to leave their vehicles and dig in. Not that it would do them any good, as they would have hardly any bullets and artillery shells to fire at the enemy with. Enough tanks to fit three tank battalions, most of them Panzer-90 'Gepards', the most technologically advanced armored fighting vehicle Wanka produced to date, along with dozens of mobile AAA batteries and radars were destroyed or damaged. Personnel casualties in the northern sector alone numbered nearly one-thousand by the end of Tempered Hammer, thus confirming to many what was expected: this war was sure to be a bloody one.

In the Central Sector, where the Second Army was assembling, casualties were lighter. Partly due to the higher state of alert the forces were in, along with the higher concentration of air-defense forces- here, the COSAF, OSAF, SDF-AF aircraft were greeted by a proper hail of surface-to-air missiles clusters. While the advanced air-defense network, helpfully supplied by the Achesians, was eventually crippled, not much harm was done after that. Closer proximity to airfields and higher priority allocated to the Second Army (it was to organize a risky river crossing of the Weser) meant that Luftstreitkräfte Gallen-23 and -29 could quickly respond, which was when the experienced enemy pilots found themselves dropping from the air like mosquitos faced with a group of merciless, electro-racket-wielding homo sapiens. That was not to say that the air battle was completely one-sided. On the contrary, the G-23 and G-29s, technologically inferior to the advanced SL aircraft, doubtlessly suffered equal if not heavier casualties included by at least a dozen occasions of friendly-fire incidents- differentiating between friend and foe became increasingly difficult for SAM crews who were relatively untrained in coordinating with their Air Force counterparts- and this was no different over Saxon airspace. Where both Sylvan and Wankan aircraft were brought down by Saxon SAM operators. Within hours, hundreds of aircraft were lying scattered across the battlefield, along with an equal number of surviving pilots behind enemy lines. Initially, a Wankan first-strike had been planned, but it was obvious that the SL had gotten to that first. Parts of the Wankan aerial strike plan was still carried out, and the air war continued throughout the first day.

 **SDF Storage Complex  
Outskirts of Freiberg | Duchy of Saxony  
0510 hours | March 12th, 2016  
**

Captain Selina Sasitsch motioned her team to move in as her watch struck ten past five in the morning. Lieutenant Kalle "Raffe" Affeburg, the squad breacher, raised his silenced MP-7 and fired at the camera watching the cave entrance while simultaneously, the guards at the front gate were gunned down by a Koppa sniper team watching the area. Two minutes ago, if everything had gone right, their contacts within the complex had cleared- killed all present- the control room so that Sasitsch's Koppa squad could infiltrate in undetected. Most of the stationary SL military facilities were currently being hit by air, as that was the easiest and safest option, but this (mainly) fuel storage facility was underground, safe from Wankan air-launched missiles and bombs. The complex was huge, extending far into the Saxon hillside, and had a significant guard presence- which was, however, not that big when considering the complex size. It was more the civilians who worked here, and it had been no problem to convince several of them to help the Wankan effort out. Engineers, having carefully studied the structural blueprints of the complex, identified three main points which would have to be hit to neutralize it.

As such, the Koppa team consisted of three groups of 4 troops each, along with an attached 2nd KKK explosives expert. Raffe took out a card provided by their friends inside, and the squad soon found themselves inside.

"Split up. Proceed as planned." said Sasitsch into her mike. Quietly and rapidly, her element moved down a set of stairs and down the long, dark corridors. Raffe, having taken point, suddenly motioned for the team to stop. Footsteps could be heard along the corridor, where lights suddenly flickered on. Two tired voices could be heard talking. Sasitsch crept up to Raffe, G-8 combat knife in hand. The latter nodded in agreement. As a black shoe stepped into their vision, both Koppa operators leapt out of the darkness. Sasitsch went for the right, Raffe for the left man. Knives were plunged into hearts while mouths were clamped shut. The other three rounded the corner too, covering the pair on the ground. Both men were finished with deep cuts to the throat. Another civilian who walked out into the corridor shortly after found a red dot on her head, before it exploded backwards as an STG-S round smashed into it. The bodies were hidden, and the group continued down to their objective. The Koppa operators had barely made a sound.

 _"Kilo-Zwo-Eins an Kilo-Kopf, sind am Ziel."_ a report came over the radio. One team had reached their objective and was placing their charges. Sasitsch's group reached their objective too and their engineer got to work. She was just about to check on the third group, which should have arrived before them, when suddenly several loud shots above were heard.

 _"Scheisse_ , sorry, that was messy. _Verdammt, verdammt…_ arrived at our objective, expect more resistance on the way out." it came through. Minor hiccup, thought the Captain. She'd ordered the telephone lines to be cut earlier to ensure that the cave inhabitants could not call for reinforcements. Hopefully nobody would arrive in the next fifteen minutes. They'd find no guards at the entrance (with any bloodmarks hopefully wiped clean by the arriving Abwehr clean-up crew) and perhaps a load of gunfire and dead bodies upon arrival.

Within the next minutes, all groups reported their charges planted and made their way out. They had given themselves ten minutes to do so before everything would come crashing down. But the exfiltration wouldn't prove to be clean. Heavy gunfire erupted above them- guards had been awakened and those on patrol had responded to the initial shootings. A fragmentation grenade went off above them, shaking the walls. Now everyone was definitely awake. Another voice appeared on their radio, it was the two Wankan collaborators in the control room, reporting that several guards were on their way towards the Koppa positions.

"Hold on, I'm coming up. Keep the control room secure." ordered Sasitsch. She arrived just in time to see four Saxon guards trying to kick in the control room door. Sasitsch pulled the trigger down, hard, as bullets rapidly exited the submachine-guns barrel. Her thirty bullets, along with several from Raffe, tore into the walls and guards, not one of them surviving the brutal fusillade. The two agents were found cowering in the control room, handguns pointed at the door, as the Koppa unit stepped in. From here, Sasitsch could direct the battle, as cameras conveniently covered practically every corner of the complex. Black-clad, heavily armed figures rapidly crossed the cameras view- the Koppa troopers. Responding, around two dozen Saxon guards, presumably military police. In the control room, the two agents helped her, while being watched over by Raffe who held his MP-7 tightly, safety off. One could never know. Outside, the other three were keeping the entrance to the room secure.

With the control room secured, the enemy stood little chance. The elite Koppa soldiers, all experienced special forces operators (with some veterans of the Sellenland conflict) flashbanged and fragged their way past the Saxons who more often than not found themselves fighting in the darkness, without the assistance of night-vision goggles. Only one man was wounded by flying debris, and he could still walk. As the Koppa squad moved toward the exit, however, a worrying call came in. The snipers on watch duty reported that they had shot a small group of people trying to enter, but survivors had alerted a nearby military convoy. Sasitsch rushed the squad out of the cave and the Koppa squad disappeared just as the first Humvees rolled onto the tarmac. Three minutes later, the complex collapsed on itself, claiming the lives of over a dozen more Saxons who had went in to investigate. Sonderkampfentwicklungsgruppe Koppa-Koppa could add another successful mission to its ultra-secret collection of successes, if only just.

Seemingly everywhere else in Saxony, the ground was shaking continuously. KKK and Abwehr agents were busy at work, lasing their targets- fixed radar sites, SAM batteries, airfields, ammunition depots and warehouses and other military storage facilities- similar to what the SL had done shortly after midnight, albeit on a smaller scale due to losses incurred in the following air battles. Under a modified version of Operation God's Wrath (the Wankan first-strike plan), G-23's and -29's, directed by their own AWACs and carrying a wide assortment of ordnance bombarded Saxony for the next few hours. The air battle over Saxony soon proved pretty costly to the Wankers. A third of all active Wankan aircraft, over two hundred combat planes, would be shot down on the first day alone, most of the losses occuring in the first few hours over Wanka and Saxony. While the aircraft could quickly be replaced, the same couldn't be said for the well-trained pilots (by Wankan standards) who were killed or captured. Which was why, on the ground, high priority was placed by the KKK, Koppa and Abwehr agents in rescuing downed pilots which luckily due to the nature of the situation was easier for the Wankers than for the SL pilots stranded behind Wankan lines.

 **Second Army | Central Sector  
River Weser | Wanko-Saxon Border  
0830 hours | March 12th, 2016  
**

" _VORWÄÄÄRTS"!_

The military police officer waved at Katsnaroff, who obediently lead his tank company into the open. The Sellenland veteran grimaced as the constant impact of artillery shells rocked the earth. The noise was deafening. On the Wankan side of the river, over one thousand artillery guns and rocket launchers were raining ceaseless hell on the Saxon and Sylvan defenders across the Weser. Divisional and regimental artillery arms had been joined together, forming roughly half of the massive gun assembly while older self-propelled guns and towed artillery pieces, formed into temporary artillery regiments, made up the rest. Across a roughly 70-kilometer stretch, the guns saturated SL defenses on multiple areas so as to conceal the exact location of the crossing. The area of the crossing was a 6-km long salient, dubbed "Sonneborn's Tongue".

As Katsnaroff's tank crested a small hill, a magnificent sight greeted him. A stream of tanks and IFV's lead hundreds of other armored vehicles toward the western river bank, guns blazing. There would be two main crossing areas, each lead by a specially trained regiment of the 14th Division. As rehearsed many times before, the infantry boarded light inflatable assault boats, squad by squad, all while under small-arms and tank fire, covered by their own IFV's and tanks on the other side of the river bank. Despite the incessant artillery barrage, it seemed as though the enemy was far from defeated.

But the Wankers were lucky. While SL engineers and aircraft had successfully blown up practically all the bridges on the Weser where crossings were possible, one bridge remained intact. That particular heavy bridge had been underestimated by the enemy engineers and the Second Army commander was doing all he could to take advantage of that unexpected blunder before it was destroyed and so several tank companies and supporting mechanized infantry of Panzer-Regiment 141 could now join the assault into Saxony.

However, as Katsnaroff's tracks first marked its entrance into Saxon territory, he could see that the landing teams were not doing well. On the northern side, a battalion-sized infantry element had landed, but was rapidly taking casualties from entrenched enemy positions. Enemy artillery, mostly located on the strategically important Hill 869, had opened fire again, unperturbed by the smoke screens that had been set up to cover the landings. It had remained silent in the beginning of the assault, presumably to fool the Wankers into thinking that their counterbattery efforts had been successful, and were now badly punishing the Wankan assaulters. It had even worse effects on the southern landing zone, where the shallow bank was bloodred and filled with the floating bodies of the dead and wounded. Isolated tank cannon fire horrifically blasted boat after boat into red mist, and those that fell into the river alive were dragged away by the current. Luckily for them, on the northern part of the salient, the landed troops of the first regiment pushed on relentlessly, with Katsnaroff's tanks in support, forcing the stubborn Saxon defenders, who turned out not to actually be that numerous, to pull back.

 _"Feindliche Panzer, 9-Uhr, feuer!"_ Katsnaroff ordered. The cannon boomed loudly, and somewhere on Hill 869 a turret flew into the air. Accurate artillery and tank cannon fire was raining upon them from that defensible hill, and it was obvious that it had to be captured lest many more Wankers died. Wankan artillery and airstrikes, guided by behind-the-lines KKK operators were trying hard to level the area, but it clearly wasn't enough. The entire hill was concealed behind a thick layer of smokelike dust and mud yet that didn't seem to bother the SL forces sitting up there.

"Keep the hill under fire," he ordered his company, "ensure that no enemy tank dares to stick their head over that ridge." Heavy machine-gun fire peppered the Gepard, rattling the crew inside. In the air, two G-23s, flying dangerously close to the ground, released several missiles at their targets on Hill 869. A surface-to-air missile raced up in return, bringing down one of the Wankan aircraft. Rapid-fire bullets chased the second, which spun out of control and crashed behind SL lines.

Around a dozen meters next to his tank, one of his Gepards received a direct hit. Desperate shouts erupted over the radio. Only one of the three-man crew clambered out. That was the third tank down of his company. Soon he would be commanding a platoon- if he managed to stay alive for that long.

Meanwhile, the battle raged on. With more mechanized infantry companies and supplies being rapidly pushed into battle across the bridge, the southern landing zone had been secured too and soon joined up with the northern one to form a solid bridgehead on the salient. Both Füsilier-Regiments of the 14th, now at roughly half-strength, began taking more ground from the retreating Saxon defenders. This was hampered by their own artillery fire which occasionally landed a shell or two amongst their own troops. Lack of coordination was still very much apparent despite all the training exercises in the past months. Soon it became all too apparent that advancing any further would stretch the Wankan lines too thin, and the infantry temporarily dug in into their positions to await reinforcements.

And then the inevitable occurred, although it came as a big shock to the regimental commanders. Three hours into the battle, the one standing bridge finally submitted itself to ceaseless SL fire both from ground and air and collapsed in the center, sending several trucks filled with vital ammunition and fuel into the river. More sections of the bridge collapsed as Wankan air-defense artillery failed to keep SL aircraft at bay. This created numerous problems. The 14th Füsiliers could now only be supplied and reinforced via boats and aircraft. Tanks and troops were already running low on ammunition and fuel, and furthermore, they were on the verge of exhaustion after hours of vicious, continuous fighting. Morale was collapsing. This was made worse by the fact that casualties could only be shipped back in a limited manner, leaving many wounded- who could have been saved, were the situation different- for dead. The river crossing was far from over, the decisive seizing of Hill 869 beyond the 14ths abilities. The roughly 3,000 tired combat troops of the 14th Füsiliers would have to dig in and hold out for another six hours while armies of engineers hastily erected their own bridges while the SL would attempt to push the Wankan troops back into the river. Already the death toll was reaching two thousand troops and rising along with over a hundred tanks and other armored vehicles destroyed. The smell and stench of death, decay and burning metal wafted across Sonneborn's Tongue, the salients far river bank and land beyond now a big patch of unrecognizable mud.

With whatever strength they had left, the troops stuck on the salient did all they could do establish a somewhat organized defensive system. The remaining half-strength companies of first and second Füsilier-Regiments formed the first line of defense supported by several tank companies and their IFVs. Further back, reinforcements from the third regiment formed a mobile force ready to reinforce or contain any enemy breakthrough. Captain Katsnaroff, detailed to the northern sector, had his tanks right tracks practically blown off by an artillery round and now only had a turret available to him. As expected, his company was now reduced to practically platoon size, with only three (excluding his) Gepards operable. He had one of them use his vehicle as solid cover in order for it to have a proper hull-down defensive fighting position. It was going to be a deadly race between the two opposing forces. Could the Saxons, Sylvans and OS bring in reinforcements quicker than the Wankers could erect their bridges? Or would the Wankers beat them to it, and launch a decisive attack onto Hill 869? The following hours would show, but one thing was sure: The Battle for the Weser Salient/Sonneborn's Tongue would not be over anytime soon.

Further west, the situation was not any better. Unexpected flooding of Saxon civilians across the border had caused heavy problems for the mobilizing Third Army. Convoys approaching the front were faced with a one-way rush on the roads. On numerous occasions, the altercations turned violent and bloody. That did not help; Most troops were delayed, basic supplies were not present and all in all the Wankan Third was in no position to move as planned toward Zwickau. An artillery bombardment on the dug-in Saxon Southern Corps had begun along with several chopper assaults and airstrikes, but that was about all the Third could contribute for now.

 **29th Mountain Division  
Western Cloysteric Highlands | Southern Wanka  
0900 hours | March 12th, 2016  
**

The 29th Mountain Division was pretty good. Most of its troops, all active, grew up and lived in the Cloysteric Highlands, which was also where the division was based. They were a coherent bunch, with a very obvious strong bond between officers and enlisted rarely seen in other regular Wankan divisions. They carried the Edelweiss insignia with pride, loved their country, the political system and generally how life was going and regularly trained to ensure that they were prepared to defend their motherland.

The problem was that they thought they were prepared while they were not, and an even bigger problem was that they were far from expecting an enemy attack (well, anything but perhaps border skirmishes and air strikes). The complex network of firebases, forward posts and other defensive preparations in this easily defensible terrain built by Meinhof had gradually been neglected with tunnels blocked, guns not maintained properly and ammunition rotting away (or stolen for hunting purposes or sale on the black market).

And so, when the Sylvans 36th and 12th Brigades, expecting fierce resistance and tough fighting, launched their superbly coordinated attacks across the Highlands, the 29th Mountain Division were caught with their pants down. A firebase, designated Hill 1172 by the Sylvans, was one of the first to fall. Captain Johann Andreas Castly, who was of mixed Sylvan-Wankan ethnicity (he was born 'John Andrews' before he had his name Wankanized) initially watched with satisfaction as their Achesian-made SAM battery downed a Sylvan jet and two harassing attack choppers within minutes. But this soon turned to horror when he found himself confronted by Sylvan armor and mechanized infantry- and then his own artillery shells landed on his troops' positions, as if the Sylvan artillery wasn't doing enough damage already. He had been informed that help in the form of Löwin attack helicopters was around half an hour away. The 29th Division did not expect an attack at all and many troops simply weren't present or took a long time to arrive at their bases, leaving Castly and other forward commanders hopelessly stranded. His own company was short of twenty troops. Trojan tank fire added to the bombardment and as Sylvan paratroopers landed in the rear, he was effectively cut off and surrounded. The Sylvans were bombarding the radio channels too with demands of surrender. Castly swore at his superiors, swore at the Abwehr who failed to warn the division of a possible attack. The medic's room was already filling up with the wounded. Fighting on was pointless, and he knew it- it was then that he decided to ensure that his men lived to fight another day. The company surrendered barely twenty minutes after coming under attack.

In the following hours, the undermanned regiment guarding the Highlands Mountain Pass was overrun by the Sylvan 36th Infantry Brigade with hundreds of troops surrendering to the surprise invasion. The second regiment of the 29th Division, watching the Blood Gulch Pass was itself nearly completely destroyed with over a third of its troops captured as it fell victim to the rapid Blitzkrieg of the 12th and 13th Sylvan Brigades. The last regiment of the 29th, designated as the tactical reserve, absorbed fleeing stragglers and dug in in an improvised manner on the edge of the Cloysteric Highlands while the 28th Mountain Division mobilized and was ordered west in support of the 29th Division. Further south, most of Blood Gulch was under the control of the Sylvans by the end of the day and the 30th Mountain Division dug in along the Seine river to await reinforcements. The terrain along the Seine was very defensible and provided the 30th with numerous natural advantages, but the fact remained that on the first day alone, the Sylvan army had overcome the most serious obstacles in the Highlands alone which the former Meinhof administration had poured millions into to "keep them there for at least several weeks". What had happened on the southern front was nothing short of a disaster.

 **Kronstadt | Volksrepublik Wanka  
1300 hours | March 12th, 2016  
**

_**Achtung- Notsendung vom Kanzleramt**_ ("Attention- Emergency Broadcast from the Chancellor's Office") flashed brightly across all Wankan television channels as the millions of Wankers sat huddled, mostly frightened and worried, on their comfortable couches. The Dark Ages was still on everyone's minds, after all, it was barely twenty years ago. Tales of horror, death and destruction had been quickly recalled into fresh memory as the distant bombardments shook the very foundation of the Wankan soul. The thought that another Dark Age would wreak havoc upon the land that they called home had put the population on the verge of panic, although it didn't come as too much of a surprise as Sonneborn and his ministers had warned for months about this. Still, hardly anyone could believe that this was all happening in their lifetimes.

Sonneborn's face, tidied with the latest Wankan cosmetics and with his hair carefully crafted, appeared on the screen. In the background were numerous busy figures clad in military fatigues. _"Meine Damen und Herren, Brüder und Schwester, Kameraden dieses heiligen Landes…"_ ("Ladies and Gentlemen, brothers and sisters, comrades of this holy land…")

"Sylvan tyranny and imperialism has inevitably arrived, the enemy is on our doorstep, bent on our destruction. The Septentrion League, led by the tyrannical dictator De La Calle, has once again forced war upon us. De La Calle has continued the ceaseless aggression and attempt at the balkanization of our homeland which was started by his many Sylvan predecessors before. The Sylvans think that they have the right to tear Wanka apart and to break off bits and pieces for their own benefit all at the cost of the Wankan people, as we have seen so many times in history. The Sylvans and their League minions are well prepared, well equipped and seek the merciless destruction of humanity- they are the pure definition of inhumanity and evil. Should any part of Wanka fall to the Sylvans, the devastation will be unimaginable, as we have seen numerous times in the past- I'm talking about torture, rape, pillaging, even genocide. Their people have proven to be little more than a bunch of gangster bullies and do not only commit mass atrocities against Wankers, but also on their own, as has been seen in Leipzig, where an entire Saxon militia unit and township, their allies nonethless, were razed to the ground by the Sylvan barbarians due to their thirst for blood and murder.

"Against this tide of imperialism and inhumanity stands the bastion of freedom- us, Wanka, who stand for everything the Septentrion League despises. Freedom, democracy and civil rights, all of which they cannot stand as it challenges their fundamental basis of power. It is us who they fear, having stood proud and independently as the true representatives of liberty, which is why, inevitably, they are attempting to wipe us from the face of the earth. However, I appeal for calm and composure in these difficult times, as only with the absolute effort of the Wankan people as a whole can this enemy of humanity can be defeated. Our armed forces have prepared for this eventuality, and I promise that the enemy will be crushed decisively. We will not give them an inch of our sacred soil, but if they try, with our combined, united efforts we will have tanks in Chandler in no time. Throughout history, the Sylvans have not realized that us Wankers are not bent on _their_ destruction; no, all we desire is to live in peaceful coexistence with each other. Yet the opposite is true for the Sylvans and I vow that as long as I am chancellor of this great nation, Sylva will not once again attempt to destroy our people.

"We will not stop at the borders with Sylva. For the great Wankan eagle has been awakened, and with your help, we will march toward Chandler and return only when that maniac De La Calle and his fellow conspirators are rotting in our prisons. And we will do this with the peace-loving, free world at our side. Today, the day that the Septentrion League has started a suicidal war on us, is the beginning of the end of their evil expansion."

Back at the studio, Heinrich Sonneborn thanked his colleagues and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Exhausted, he made his way back to his mansion. Today had been the longest day in his life, full of surprises coming at the most random of moments. The war had come so suddenly, earlier than expected, and he wondered if it had caught him unprepared. Regardless, there was little he could do about _that_ now, and he looked forward to getting a good night's sleep.

But the surprises, as it turned out, hadn't ended. As Sonneborn stepped into the bedrooom, he was greeted by the sight of his longtime girlfriend, Annette Meistlin who was wearing a familiar and very revealing outfit of an evil witch. In her hand was a long whip which she twirled around playfully as she advanced toward Sonneborn, whose face had turned obligingly from smile to utter horror. She tied his hands up and dragged him toward the bed, pausing only to turn on some music. A cruel smile crossed her pretty, youthful face as the whip came whistling down…


	8. Race of the Cripples

" **Race of the Cripples"**

 **Northern Sector  
Forward Edge of the Battle Area, Saxony  
0900 hours | 12 March 2016**

To any farmer, the upper half of Saxony is a familiar, and perhaps even beautiful sight. Crops, often wheat and corn but sometimes rice and even tobacco, roll unto the horizon and beyond, with the glittering orange sun rising behind the backdrop of an occasional farmhouse beginning to stir into action. Various communities adorned these fields, villages and towns based originally around commerce and post but now more around opportunities to sell and export produce. Farmer Peter Robinson awoke not the dazzling sun to which he become long used, but instead to columns of Wankan troops and tanks. In the distance, great fires dominated the skyline the clouds of smoke that emanated from them drifted lazily in the wind. Today, Robinson awoke not to the sound of a cockerel but to gunfire.

Dashing out of bed, Robinson quickly escorted his barely-awake family into the farmhouse's safe room, bolted the door and turned on the radio, adjusting the frequency, while inserting a magazine into his RBL. Soon he would have go out again and make sure the farmhands laid low. For now, he took solace knowing that soon the radio would tell him what was going on and perhaps emit instructions.

The radio was static. Just static.

Robinson peered out the window at a line of Wankan tanks driving down the road a few kilometers to the east and said a prayer for his son doing his service in the military.

A mere ten miles to the north, there was a thunderous explosion as an oncoming vehicle was torn asunder, shrapnel flying in the air. The man-portable ATGM fell from the shoulders of a Saxon infantryman and landed in the ditch beside the road, mud splattering over the small "Made in Mozria" stamp. Gunfire erupted from all sides as another rocket was fired and went long. Opening up with everything they had, which was no more than automatic rifles, machine guns, and a few anti tank weapons, the Saxon infantry company gave their best as they emerged from the cornfield, guns blazing. Across the breadth of the northern frontier, a few scarce motor rifle formations, rarely with armored or air support, gave resistance to the Wankan advance.

Three Geopard-90 tanks lay burning by the roadside, but the short yet brutal firefight had come to an end. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and blood and empty ammunition casings littered the floor on both sides. Yet the Saxons had abandoned their weapons and raised their arms in the air in surrender, shouts of "Parlay, parlay!" masked by the cries of the wounded and the crackling of thick flame. For Corporal Thomas Robinson, A Company, Third Battalion, Sixth Infantry Regiment, Saxon Northern Corps, the war was over.

The Wankans would soon find that, despite orders to fight to the death, the Saxon soldier was prone to surrendering when there was very little at stake. Nobody was going to charge a tank with a machine gun. There were no heroics, only fighting until fighting was no longer possible and then, in a very conventional sense of warfare, surrendering and expecting humane treatment. Whether that would be offered or not was unbeknown to the first Saxon troops to enter combat along the Northern Sector.

 **Central Sector Command Center  
Dresden, Duchy of Saxony  
1200 hours | 12 March 2016**

El Camino Real (The Kings' Highway) curved slightly north from its traditional lateral direction, weaving in and out of huge fields of corn and wooded hills which accompanied it until its course was complete. Down this road, Brigadier General Jackson (SDF) land rover ran the gauntlet of passing military trucks, tanks, and APCs. It passed checkpoints of officers chatting and men waving trucks through. It passed overflying helicopters and planes. It passed civilians trying in vain to escape. The mobilized forces of Sylva, with breathtaking speed were heading north. And very little was going to get in their way.

Eventually, and not a moment too soon, the Land Rover reached the where the road curved north and Jackson surveyed the camp assembled there, which had begun life not so many hours ago and was still being constructed, dozens of tents and trucks parked in an disorderly fashion. This, however, was not Jackson's concern, and the Land Rover drove onto the field, the rough ground giving it a little trouble but the four wheel drive easily made its way into the camp. The Brigadier General opened the door, saluted the guard, and was taken to his destination.

The temporary headquarters of the Central Sector had been west of Dresden and was still being assembled. Gathered around an operations table in a muddy tent were army, corps and divisional leaders. Saluting, Jackson realized he was the last one and gave a short apology for his tardiness. After all, he had just been appointed Commanding Officer of the Twelfth Infantry Regiment (Saxon), who's present commander was out of contact, presumed dead. Most notably, the CINC of the Central Sector, Lt. General Montoya (COSAF), stood dressed in a sharp field uniform.

"We were just saying, Jackson," the Montoya began, "That the situation isn't look quite so good."

"Well, I entirely agree, General." Jackson replied. "I'd say it was looking somewhat worse than that, but..."

"Hm." Montoya shrugged. "Anyway, Reyes is probably going to order a general withdrawal. There is no point trying to hold anything north of the El Camino Real... let the Wankans have it." There were nods and grunts of approval all around. Montoya, however, looked somewhat shocked. "Let them advance and outrun their supply lines. In about a week, we'll be prepared to throw them back. I'd appreciate it if you could order your regiment to withdraw as fast as possible."

"General," Jackson exclaimed, "I'm afraid I cannot give that order. My regiment would be annihilated by fast-moving enemy armor and from the air. Now that the enemy has the upper hand, any retreat would be disastrous. Furthermore, we would be leaving more than twenty thousand civilians undefended!"

"Orders are orders, Brigadier General – and you are ordered to withdraw your formation. Resistance will stiffen the resolve of the enemy. We must lure them into believing that this will be an easy victory."

"They already know it will not be – the air force gave them a proper beating and my regiment held the line at Hill 869. Half a division of Wankan troops are establishing a beachhead on the south bank of the Weser, waiting for reinforcements to push again. In the south, the Fourth Infantry Division is racing through the Highlands virtually unopposed."

Moments after his arrival, Jackson had already started a heated argument, with various sides raising their voices in approval or disapproval of Jackson's refusal.

"Enough, gentlemen," Lt. General Montoya said, calmly. "There will be no bickering here. Brigadier General Jackson, what do you have in mind?"

"Sir," Jackson replied, regaining his composure, "I would order my regiment to attack the enemy. We can force them into combat and hold them until the Sylvan reinforcements have deployed behind us. It will lead to a great expense of blood, but I believe it to be worth it. If we can push the Wankans back across the Weser, we will buy ourselves another twenty four hours, perhaps more, with which to move the Thirteenth Armored Division."

"But they outnumber you fifteen to one!" Someone replied.

"If you were a Wankan General, would you attack the enemy on those odds?"

"I don't think any General would!"

"If that is your objection to my plan, sir, then I ask you to demote me. At this time, we have scarce few options. We must keep the enemy away from our forces while they regroup. My troops can do that. If they retreat they will be overrun by the momentum of the enemy. Please, Lt. General, allow me to put my troops onto the offensive."

 **Twelfth Infantry Regiment (Saxon)  
Central Sector, Saxony  
1300 hours | 12 March 2016**

The farmlands were ablaze. It was an emotional sight for the boys born and bred on farmlands of Saxony. In a scarce few weeks, their world had been transformed. And then, in a scarce few hours, their world had been destroyed. Wankan tanks and mechanized infantry now formed entrenchments on the Saxon side of the Weser river, defiling the soil of his sacred countryside. Between the Wankers and the Sylvan reserves a few hours south, lay only the thousand five hundred soldiers of the Twelfth Infantry Regiment. On Hill 869, not too far from the front, a small company of soldiers prepared for the coming onslaught, watching helplessly as the Wankan battle lines formed before them. Through the radio, all Captain Gregory Shaw could hear were calls for reinforcements, notices of surrender, enemy propaganda, and static. He sighed and lit a cigarette as an explosion threw the ground into a spasm not dissimilar to an earthquake. The battle would shortly be upon them.

Suddenly, a crisp voice descended over the radio's priority channel. "This is Brigadier General Jackson speaking. Soldiers of Saxony, the enemy approaches. They have attacked our country without warning. Enemy tanks and infantry defile our native soil. The people of the Casaterran continent cry out for resistance. And we will give it to them. Reinforcements will soon pour in from all quarters of the Septentrion League, but at the present time, the enemy's advance must be halted. All formations in the field are ordered to counterattack and throw back the hated enemy. To arms, soldiers of Saxony: liberty or death!"

Shaw looked over the foxhole and saw once again the burning fields of his motherland. If what the General was saying was true – and he had no reason to believe it – there was only one thing to do. If it was true that giant armored columns were forming up behind him to throw the enemy out, they would indeed need time to regroup and prepare. Twelfth Infantry was the glass barrier between a counterattack and the enemy offensive. Brigadier General Jackson's call for strategic depth would not go unanswered. Over Shaw's head, four jets with visible COSAF-AF insignia shot over the hillock and banked left in perfect formation, heading into the distance. The radio was alive with the battle cries of free men. He fixed his bayonet to his rifle and stood up. Today was a good day to die.

B Troop of the regiment attached armored battalion sat on a road, dormant, listening to the sounds of battle. Held in reserve, B Troop wished dearly to join their brothers in the field. Now they had their chance. One by one, the fifteen tanks of the Troop and their attached light vehicles gunned their engines and drove forwards. In the commanders seat of his old but reliable Trojan-I tank, Captain Shaw lead his formation into battle. But a few minutes down the road he received reports from his forward scouts of a large enemy formation heading due west. COSAF aircraft committed to battle were fighting a battle in the sky and were doing an admirable job of keeping enemy aerial scouts at bay. As his tanks approached the hill ahead that blocked them from sight of the enemy, Shaw turned up his music a notch.

 _I do not wish this life to pass away  
But life presents such possibilities – each and every day  
I heard a calling that was right for me  
I prayed for strength for what's a head of me – please show me the way_

He gunned his engine forwards and the echelon of vehicles followed suit, reaching the top of the hill in moments. Shaw gulped; at least a brigade-sized formation of Wankan armor, with mechanized infantry, digging in on the Weser river's south bank. The shell in the barrel of his tank was already loaded; the AT-142, a SADARM-type weapon designed to be used in the Trojan. Shaw didn't even need to give the order to open fire; as his tanks reached their firing positions, they let off a deadly salvo of the weapons before loading and firing their APFSDS munitions at a range of six kilometers. The roar of gunfire covered the hill as anti-tank missiles and shells screamed down on the Wankan brigade and covered the south bank in flame.

 _The sun rose high and burnt the night away  
Who stood before me was my enemy – don't tread on me  
He's come to take away my liberties  
I'd rather die than be a slave to thee – don't treat me this way_

However, Shaw was not in a good position. He could back out now and force the enemy formation to pursue, but they might instead just continue towards their objective, and his orders were strict: drive the enemy across the Weser. To this end, Shaw pursued the only option open to him, in keeping with the highest traditions of armored combat. He imagined his mother and father being presented with his medals. In a way, Shaw didn't regret that he hadn't yet married and had no children. There would be less pain when he died, that way. He hit the radio.

"All vehicles are ordered to charge and engage the enemy at the closest possible distance. Over!"

The small number of Saxon tanks, with roughly two battalions of motorized infantrymen behind them charged at full speed towards the division, hoping to confuse the enemy and allow them to engage on a more even footing. There would be no retreat. The enemy would have to deal with every single last tank head on, where their armor was strongest. Shaw winced as a shell hit his front armor and bounced off. The battalion of tanks advanced forwards like medieval knights in an echelon formation, scattering and popping smoke before engaging the enemy at close distance.

 _I'd rather die than be your slave!  
I will survive and you'll feel my rage  
It's not a question of being brave  
I'd just rather die than be your slave_

However, the Wankans were dug in, and from the opposite bank of the Weser, had two divisions' worth of artillery pieces. Shells rained down on the advancing Saxons, who had abandoned their defensive positions in an attempt to push the Wankans back across the river. Men and machine alike were obliterated by the Wankans' coordinated artillery fire, which produced horrendous casualties among the Twelfth Infantry Regiment. The tank next to Shaw took a direct hit from what he judged to be a 105 mm howitzer; though the reactive armor saved the crew, the tank's left track blew off, leaving it effectively disabled.

It was then that Shaw realized how stupid the attack had been; the Wankans outnumbered them, better fire support from their artillery, and a superior defensive position. As the Twelfth Regiment slammed head-on into the Fourteenth Fusilier Division, the Wankan artillery fell silent to avoid hitting their own forces. This gave the Twelfth Regiment a better chance, but not enough of an equalizer to turn the battle in their favor.

Shaw's tank took another hit, and warning lights flashed inside the cabin. Smoke filled his view and filled his nostrils as his crew struggled to exit the doomed vehicle. The gunner through the tank's hatch open and collapsed back inside the tank with half a face – the other half blown apart by a 12.7 mm LMG round. Climbing over the twitching body of his comrade Shaw climbed out of the tank and dived into the mud, his driver following suit. Around him the battle was not going well – bodies of infantrymen and burning hulks of what were personnel carriers and armored vehicles littered the battlefront. The Saxon attack was stalling – and it was not going to succeed. He wished nothing more than to call it off and tell what forces remained to pull back – but his radio had been in the tank. _And a commander dies with his men._

With his sidearm in hand, his country in mind, and trepidation in his heart, Shaw yelled and charged the Wankan position ahead of him.

 **Commonwealth Western General Headquarters  
Corbinsburg, Commonwealth of Sylva  
1400 hours | 12 March 2016**

The sharp heel of military boots clashed against the concrete floor, each step landing with a rhythmic crash. They stopped for a minute and were replaced by the click of a zippo lighter, and then they returned. Supreme Allied Commander Sebastian Reyes (COSAF) paces were, in truth, beginning to annoy his aide, but the amount of stress the General was under was understandable. This wasn't petty stress, either - wondering where your girlfriend was, or losing your car keys - the General was stressing over the future security of Saxony, and if got bad, perhaps Sylva as well. He stopped pacing and leant over the map of the tiny nation.

"Fucking Montoya. Why the hell did he order the Twelfth Infantry to advance?!"

"It was a Saxon commander that suggested it. They wanted to push the Wankans back across the river."

"Stupid!" Reyes kicked the table, discovering it a good stress toy of sorts. "Get me Major General Longshore." What Reyes wanted, Reyes got. He just had that personality, although it probably helped he was in command of all SL forces within the Casterran theater.

"Longshore here." A clipped North Carmisian accent crackled through the phone.

"General what is your situation?" Reyes demanded.

"We're bringing Seventh Airborne into position around Hill 879 now – we've had to move them by land after the Twentieth Regiment was crushed at Leipzieg. Thirteenth Armored is waiting on a brigade – the Seventeenth, I believe - and will follow up shortly to form defenses along El Camino Real, they're held up at Meissen at the moment. Supposedly they're running into fuel problems. No word on anyone else. Communications are breaking down out here, Sir." Longshore sounded worried. Reyes didn't blame him: the situation was dire. The day before, the Wankans had crossed the Weser into Saxony. Special warfare teams had infiltrated and destroyed the majority of his available fuel reserves, and Wankan air power had not folded to the weight of the SL as had been expected. Moreover, the enemy was breaking through in the Northern Sector and had secured a beachhead across the Weser in the Central Sector. And any hour now, the Wankers would be rushing across the Weser in the west...

"You're doing good, Joe," Reyes replied, "We're working on establishing proper communications as we speak, and trying to get our fuel reserves and reinforcements moved into the battle area."

"Do whatever you can, Sebastian," Longshore replied, sighing. "I will sort out Thirteenth Armored. We'll hold these bastards for as long as we can."

"I don't expect any less, not from you," Reyes replied. "Just remember: one week until the cavalry arrives." Reyes glanced at the train lines on his map that would carry troops and tanks from the Tuscany Coast, where an additional division of Sylvan reserves were forming up, preparing to deploy to the war in Saxony. "Reyes out."

Reyes bent over the map once again. In the north, the Wankan First Army was making headway against the Saxons – three regiments of SDF troops, two mechanized and one armored, were attempting to hold the line to no avail. In the center, the one regiment holding the strategically vital Hill 869 had been clobbered during a suicidal counterattack…luckily they had bought the Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division enough time to replace them. In the western sector, the Wankan Third Army was facing delays but would likely cross the border within twelve hours. Looking at the battle lines Reyes knew his only option was to consolidate what little forces he had at his disposal – but that would mean abandoning entire communities to the Wankans.

"Order the Saxon Western Corps and the Saxon Northern Corps to retreat to Phase Lines Two and Three," Reyes ordered. "That places the Northern Corps just north of Chemnitz and the Western Corps behind Spur 33."

"Sir – that would mean abandoning _all_ of western Saxony! That's nearly a fourth of the entire country!"

"And it also means saving the other three quarters. As commanders we are forced to make sacrifices – this isn't the first and it wont be the last. Give the order – and get those forces moving."

"And the Seventeenth Brigade?"

"Get a helo down the A12 – see what the holdup on that fuel is."

 **678\. Brigade Support Battalion  
A12 Motorway, 60 km E of Meissen  
1430 hours**

"God damnit!" Major Mitchell slammed the door behind him, having leaped out of his truck to see first hand just what was going on. A traffic jam. In _this_ country. Trucks, cars, jeeps, everything, moving eastwards. And his Battalion, trying to move west. They should have fueled the tanks beforehand, damnit... the sound of revving engines and beeping horns filled the sky. It was chaos, utter chaos. A bus tried to get through and was turned away as military policemen tried in vain to get the vehicles moving. Mitchell strode up to the M.P.s, cigarette in mouth and hand on hips.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" he demanded, puffing some smoke in their direction.

"Just who the hell are you, first?" one snapped. Oh, that was enough. They hadn't seen stress in its human representation until they'd seen Mitchell.

"Major Thomas Mitchell, 678 Brigade Support Battalion, Ninth Armored Brigade, Thirteenth Armored Division – we are trying, gentlemen, to get some fucking fuel through to our tanks on the front so we can actually fight the Wankans – obviously, you aren't quite as enthusiastic about that idea as we are!" He could feel his blood rising. This wasn't going to be fun. "Now get these vehicles either moving, or off the fucking road, so we can get our fuel through!"

The two M.P.s looked at each other. "Sir, there's no way we can-"

"Fine!" Mitchell shouted. He drew his sidearm into the air with one hand and let loose a few shots, frightening the M.P.s a little and, after a few moments, silencing the horns. He walked back to his truck and, jumping on top, took a megaphone. "In the name of the Sylvan Army, you people are going to move your cars off the road and let my convoy through, or else we're going to move them for you!"

He didn't see much movement. Mitchell fired some rounds into the air again. No movement. "Alright, lets do this," he whispered to himself. In this day and age, anything like eminent domain took balls. "Company dismount!" he screamed down the radio and watched as troops jumped from the sides of trucks and land rovers some way back and began jogging, armed, down the road. The Major smiled to himself. _Now_ we can get this fuel moving.

The helicopter glided gracefully through the skies down the A12 motorway. Traffic jams, as far as the eye could see – refugees, the observer thought. But hold on, what was _this?_ The helo pushed itself a few kilometers forward effortlessly, and low and behold, Sylvan troops were literally pushing cars off the side of the road and slowly, the trucks were rolling through. It was like a sea of green disarming protesting passengers, moving vehicles, and waving through army trucks. The observer picked up the radio. "This is Optic One, Headquarters. We've found the blockage. Never seen a thing like this before... our troops are literally pushing cars off the side of the road so the trucks can get through, Sir. Seems like its working, too..."

Major Mitchell lit another cigarette as his truck moved forwards ten feet. It was working, alright, and the civvies seemed to be getting the idea. That was until a gunshot rang out. Mitchell looked in horror as a man got out of his car with a sidearm and put a round into the chest of one of his NCOs. He felt his stomach drop as the rest of the section put numerous 5.56 rounds into his chest while all the time the two children inside the car wailed and their mother began to cry and shout.

 _Oh shit._

 **Hill 1172 (Firebase Foxtrot)  
Cloysteric Highlands, Volksrepublik Wanka  
1500 hours | 12 March 2016**

Much to the bereft of the men of the First Reconnaissance Battalion, Hill 1172 had surrendered without a fight, heeding the calls of the Sylvans to lay down their arms or face an unstoppable aerial bombardment. Enough damage had been done by the Thirty-Sixth Brigade's artillery pieces that the reservists guarding the hill hadn't wanted to find out what else the Sylvans had laying around to throw at them. Some one hundred-fifty men had exited the hill's bunker complex, either with their hands behind their heads or carrying wounded comrades on stretchers, and six 105mm howitzers mounted within the hill's fortifications had ended up being captured intact with their ammunition stockpiles, the crews evidently forgetting to set the charges. More likely they feared the entirety of the old bunker complex would have collapsed in on them if they attempted to scuttle the guns; besides, the defenders had likely reasoned, it wasn't as if the Commonwealth was lacking in artillery as it was.

Engineers that had been attached to the assault force, assisted by teams of infantry, proceeded to check the bunker and ensure it was empty; after scouting it out, they concluded that it was a miracle the place hadn't collapsed entirely under the weight of the 105 mm shells and that it was probably dangerous to remain there. Therefore, it was decided that the place should be occupied and used as a rear area firebase to guard against guerrilla units, no matter that it could implode on itself at any given moment.

Meanwhile, the First Recon was wrapping up things at the newly-dubbed Firebase Foxtrot. They would be supplemented by Military Police and rear guard units soon; when they arrived, the Rangers would resume their advance as the Thirty-Sixth Brigade northern vanguard. Airborne and satellite intelligence confirmed that no static defenses lay between the First Recon and its objective, Wallis. Well, nothing besides two divisions of Wankan soldiers.

As for the prisoners, Captain Palmer was shocked to find these Wankans, the first of their soldiers she'd seen in his life, to be sadly lacking in the discipline and ferocity her father had told her of. Most of them appeared to have not shaven for some days, if not weeks, and there appeared to be no regulation of haircuts. What was worse, nearly a _quarter_ of the men appeared to be intoxicated!

Palmer could only scratch her head at the sight of the men casually strolling out of the bunker in surrender and plopping themselves down within the perimeter that had been designated the holding area, the men looking more tired and annoyed at having to have woken up at such an ungodly hour than afraid of being shot or angry that their country was being invaded. Some of them even seemed to be joking amongst themselves, already sensing that they weren't about to be executed or tortured.

How the hell did men like these manage to keep the might of the Aemen and Achesian armies at bay during the Sellenland War?

The one clean-shaven fellow amongst the group of prisoners nearest to him calmly walked up to Palmer as if strolling through the park on a Sunday, and offered up a bottle of Schnapps.

"Care for a drink, Captain?" the man said in perfect Spanish, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

"Sure, Lieutenant." she replied in German, keeping with the tradition of Sylvan-Wankan exchanges of goods between captors and captives that had started perhaps a fifty years ago, in one of the many wars fought between the two nations. His father had told him of such exchanges, and how the commanders tried to discourage them, though nobody really listened and only the strictest of commanders ever attempted to enforce any sort of rule against it.

The Wankan lieutenant smiled, opening the bottle of alcohol and taking a quick sip. "Never realized artillery could be that heavy. You had us scared shitless."

Palmer chuckled, "Yeah, well, I was kind of hoping you lot would have put up more of a fight. You aren't exactly living up to the expectations my father's built up for me over the years."

The lieutenant scoffed in response, "Old Black War vet?"

"Yeah."

"Mine too. That's why I'm not regretting my CO's decision,"

Palmer shot him a quizzical look, and the Wankan explained. "You were probably gonna dump bunker busters on us next. Or maybe nerve gas."

Palmer smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm afraid I can't be giving such information to the enemy," she replied both jokingly and seriously with a swig of the alcohol.

"Schnapps?"

"That's right."

"Father told me about those as well, I'd been meaning to get my hands on some. I must hand it to you Wankers, you have some good alcohol."

The two stood in silence for a moment, the air suddenly tense.

"So what's going to happen to me and my men, Captain?"

She considered for a moment.

"Well, we're not going to shoot you, if that's what your asking. We're not the devil-worshipping baby-killing bastards that cunt Sonneborn says we are. So you'll probably get sent to an internment camp until this whole issue of the war is settled,"  
"Internment camp?"

"Yes, sort of like of a prison. But not really. Nothing like the 'political readjustment' camps you have in Wanka, if that's what your asking. You'll be treated good, and after this is all over you'll be sent back to your homeland."  
"So, your not going to kill us?"

"If we wanted you dead," she said, jokingly, "we wouldn't have taken the trouble of asking you to surrender."

 **SS-117** _ **Soldado del Sol**_ **  
~100 km S of Maritime Exclusion Zone  
1600 hours | 12 March 2016**

It had taken the Sylvans seven hours to fuel, arm, and man the four Carmi Class nuclear submarines that had been requisitioned for Task Force Four. Its objective was the greatest stealth operation in recent naval history – breaching the Achesian Naval Exclusion Zone undetected, and, once in the Gulf of Wanka, destroy both the Wankan navy and select coastal targets. And that was the easy part – once they had emptied their tubes of ballistic missiles, the submarines would then have to violate the exclusion zone _again_ and return to port in Kemwick, in the Sarston Islands, evading detection from the Achesian Navy – which, at that point, would be actively hunting for them.

 _At least on the way there, they won't know we'll be coming…_ Wyatt thought, as he looked at the underwater topographical map. _Can't say the same for the way back._

"Sir," a junior officer said, interrupting Wyatt's train of thought, "the Task Force has been assembled. We are ready to get underway,"

"Right-o," Wyatt replied, straightening his shirt. "Cast off."

 **Fifth Infantry Regiment  
Western Sector, Saxony  
1730 hours | 12 March 2016**

 _"Retreat?"_ Colonel Sam Nelson threw his helmet to the ground, landing with in a splash in a pool of mud. "The fighting hasn't even started yet!"

Major Haynesworth, Nelson's XO, sighed. "Sam, we are under direct orders from SL High Command. Lt. General Reyes _himself_ said-"

"Fuck General Reyes! Fuck the League! This is our country, damnit, and I'm not letting it fall without a fucking fight!"

"But, sir, even if we stayed, the Ninth Armored Regiment is already moving. We'll have no one to cover our northern flank. We must retreat, or we will be destroyed whenever the Third Army rolls through the border."

"But no word yet on the Fourth Regiment?"

"No sir,"

"Those are Colonel Thomas' men. Good fighters, they are. And a good, honest Saxon commanding them. I'll be damned if they're gonna run and hide behind the Sylvans at the Spur."

He picked up his helmet and brushed off the mud. "Hail up Colonel Thomas – tell him that we're going to fall back to Zwickau and fortify the city. There are thousands of Saxon militiamen there – together, we can hold back the Third Army ourselves!"

"Your insane!" Haynesworth replied.

"Then leave, Haynes," Nelson said. "And take your cowardly ass and hide behind the Sylvans. But we - " he gestured towards the rest of the regiment behind them – "are Saxons! Liberty or death!"

 _"Liberty or death!"_


	9. Under the Eagle

**Affenberg  
150km East of Potsdam | Volksrepublik Wanka  
0800 hours | March 13th, 2016**

The clouds were dark and heavy and threatened to let loose their loads of water as the first League prisoners, a mix of Saxons and Sylvans, were roughly forced out of the train. Every single one of them looked tired and exhausted, some bearing fresh scars and bruises. Wet blood was smeared across some of their faces and muddy uniforms, and several had arms tucked inside self-made slings. Most hadn't slept for over twenty four hours. Their treatment- suffering from ceaseless physical abuse and kept awake by the constant screaming and beatings by the Wankan soldiers- was not actually permitted, the Wankan Armed Forces being quite strict and explicit in that matter. But it so happened to be that reservist soldiers had been assigned to move them to the internment camp just outside Affenberg, and these new recruits were possibly the most ill-disciplined troops in the entire world. Many of them had criminal backgrounds and the number of cases the military police had to deal with had skyrocketed in recent months since the loosening of the restrictions on recruits in an attempt to boost troop numbers.

And so the hundreds of Saxon and Sylvan prisoners had endured a torturous night in the hands of what was essentially the Schlesien mafia. A dozen had already died due to the denial of medical help toward them. Screams of pain had accompanied the trains as officers turned a blind eye, instead choosing to curse their superiors for detailing them to this mission. They had cheered when war was declared. But what they did not expect was to have to sit in the hinterland and clean the shit of the enemy soldiers, no, what they all wanted to do was kill Sylvans.

However, there was one thing to note. Even earlier on, the prisoners had been segregated by looks into ethnic Sylvan/Aemen and ethnic Wankan. The Saxo-Wankers, who were in the minority, remained untouched although they were piled back together with the others as they gathered on the train station in front of the officers. The huddled masses were then force-marched twenty kilometers to the camp. Buses and trucks were in short supply, the grim-faced soldiers had claimed. All helping with the war effort, apparently.

Even with the officers present, the mental and physical abuse did not cease. The cold, sinister soldiers were joined by jeering, whip-wielding men of the home guard who were sent to help herd- literally- the group toward the camp. Those who collapsed or otherwise couldn't continue walking were mercilessly whipped or beaten (unless they were Wankan, of course) back to their feet. The route had been carefully planned to ensure the least possible chance of any prisoner getting away. Nevertheless, several did try and no effort was made to recapture them. The bloodthirsty gangsters-turned-homeland defenders didn't need any further excuse- the fleeing men were chased and cut down by rifle fire, even if they gave up trying to escape. The message was clear. Dead bodies were often found with many more bullets in them that was needed to kill a person.

Around halfway through the march, it began to rain. Water soaked the uniforms of the prisoners. The beatings continued. Angry local Wankers, bullies who were only too used to beating up defenseless opponents (and were too cowardly to enlist) were not stopped from dishing out their own punishment. Some women joined in too, bashing heads down with pots and pans. But there was defiance in the eyes of their prisoners, most of whom simply shrugged off the assaults and marched on. One middle aged Wanker, a fat and thoroughly disgusting figure who felt the need to hit a Sylvan with a wooden stick found out that they weren't as down and spiritless as he would've hoped. His throat was almost instantly crushed by the large figure's hand. The Sylvan was quickly grabbed and dragged from the group by a pair of Wankan soldiers, the muzzle of the G-74 digging into his stomach. The Sylvan spat at their feet.

"Go on, kill me, you dirty, dishonorable bastards." he said in English, his voice loud and clear. "Pull the fuckin' trigger. It's that easy to kill an unarmed man. That's all you're good for, right?"

The soldiers didn't understand a single word, but the tone of his voice and his actions was enough to ingrain a tad bit of respect into them for the prisoner. One of them shrugged, and he was released back into the group.

 _"Behalt' ihn im Auge."_ ("Keep an eye on him") the other muttered.

The casualties continued to mount. Bodies were left lying on the edge of the road, or dumped into nearby fields. As they arrived at the camp, over fifty captives had died in Wankan hands. Here, they were properly segregated. One after the other was registered. Little notice was taken of the fact that so many of them looked like they'd just come out of the Geheimpolizei's notorious torture chambers. The tall Sylvan who'd killed a person with a single squeeze of his hand was brought up to register.

 _"Name und Dienstgrad?"_ the prison warden asked. He had asked that to every single prisoner up to now. Sentences were first formed in German, to see if they'd understand. Those who did were put in a separate group together with the ethnic Wankers. Those who did not, and were not of Wankan ethnicity, were put in their own group. This would become standard practice for captured soldiers.

The Sylvan did not reply.

"Name and rank?" the warden asked.

"Captain Eduardo Baxter." came the gruff reply. A soldier walked up to the warden and conversed tersely with the warden, who nodded.

"Unit?"

Baxter did not reply. Shaking his head, the warden said to him in perfect English: "As usual. But you'll find out soon enough that it'll be _much_ better for you if you cooperate. We have enough experience dealing with our own folks." The Sylvan pilot was personally escorted away to the prisons, where he would be interrogated. The army did have an interest in officers.

The group of Wankers and german-speaking ethnic Sylvans were loaded into trucks and driven away. They would be treated very humanely, as they would soon see. The point of which was part of Sonneborn's larger policy of "reintegration"- to bring Saxony, a separate region for half a decade, back in line. The same couldn't be said for the rest. Soon, they would discover that the initial treatment was just the beginning of a much, larger nightmare…

From a hill just around a kilometer away, a pair of military-clad figures watched through binoculars as the prisoners were brought to their cells. One of them made several notations. Their cameras were already filled with pictures of the compound- every corner of it. As former Abwehr agents, they were experts in their field, and it was certain that the Admiral would be pleased.

 **Max-Bonhöffer-Streitkräfte-Kommandozentrale-Nürnberg  
Nürnberg | Volksrepublik Wanka  
1100 hours | March 13th, 2016**

"In the north, First Army has had to halt its advance. The 10th Füsiliers are shelling the outskirts of Genf, but they lack the supplies to move in to take the town. The advance will resume tomorrow morning." said Field Marshal von der Leijen in a monotone voice. Sonneborn and Hintner, standing on his right and left respectively, listened intently. "The air attacks yesterday put a severe dent in their fuel and ammunition supplies. We're currently restocking them."

"In the central sector, engineers have finally completed the bridges two hours later than expected. The 13th Füsiliers is currently being brought over to the bridgehead, and they will be followed by the 15th. The 14th Füsiliers, meanwhile, has been holding out pretty well on the southern bank, although they have suffered thousands of casualties and will likely have to be pulled back for refitting after this battle. Yesterday they successfully repelled a massed armored assault and are constantly having to respond to probing counterattacks from their flanks by the Saxon 2nd Armored. The troops on the southern bank are still being pinned down from Hill 869, which we will take tomorrow once the three divisions have arrived and regrouped on the salient. The 101st Fallschirmjäger is also preparing to launch an airborne flanking assault on the hill if necessary.

"In the west, we are not entirely sure what the SL is doing. An tank regiment, presumably the Saxon 9th Armored, has withdrawn to Cottbus along with other troops but Saxon troops the size of two regiments are digging in to hold the western sector all by themselves. Regardless, Third Army is on the move again, and will be looking to rapidly capture Zwickau and its airfield. We can use the base to launch aircraft for attacks into Saxony. 16th Füsiliers has crossed the Weser unopposed and is racing to the El Camino Royal highway to cut off retreating enemy troops.

"In the south, the 29th Mountain Division is conducting a fighting retreat from the Cloysteric Highlands. We're rushing in reinforcements for the Fourth Army to throw the Sylvans back.

"We expect heavy resistance in the next few days as we look for a suitable opening. The SL is concentrating its defenses around central Saxony; we will look to either split their forces in two, if we capture Hill 869, or surround them entirely with a northern hook, if we take Leipzig and can force a river crossing across the upper part of the Weser. Either way, if we capture Freiburg with our armored pincers, we will have essentially taken wrested Saxony from enemy hands."

 **2nd Panzer Division Headquarters  
Darmdorf | Volksrepublik Wanka  
2000 hours | March 13th, 2016**

A black armored car screeched to a halt outside the divisional headquarters of the 2nd Panzer Division, one of the few regular army units stationed along the coast, ready to be moved north in case Mozria decided to intervene in the conflict. The windows were scrolled down as the stern-faced military policemen standing guard approached. An old man in military fatigues with three golden stars on his shoulder handed him his papers. The man had a bushy moustache and was accompanied by two bodyguards. _Generaloberst Erwin Galen_ the policeman read. The name was quickly checked in the military database. _Generaloberst Erwin Galen, Commander of the 7th Panzer Division currently stationed in Potsdam_ his profile read, followed by personal details. The MP showed his thumbs-up, and the gates were lifted.

The old man, accompanied by his bodyguards wielding short-barrelled MP-10s, walked into the building. _"Kommen sie 'rein, die Tür ist offen!"_ the shout came from inside the office after one of the guards knocked. The doors opened and the three visitors stepped in. At the desk was the commander of the 2nd Panzer, General der Panzertruppe Wolfgang Wedell, who immediately stood up to salute the Colonel-General- before stopping himself. The two-stars' eyes narrowed in suspicion. _"Herr Generaloberst..?"_ He knew the 7th' commander relatively well. This figure in front of him was certainly not Erwin Galen. He did seem vaguely familiar, though.

And the old man didn't hide it. The moustache came off, along with the cap. At the same time, the two bodyguards had whipped out bug detectors and were scanning the room. Wedell nearly shouted in surprise, but the old man in front of him motioned him to be quiet. _"Verdammt… Admiral?"_

The latter nodded and smiled, and sat down comfortably on the chair opposite his desk. "I assume you regularly check this room for bugs?"

"Very regularly, since Sonneborn came to power." Wedell answered, shock still in his face. "You have the nerve, my old friend… waltzing into my office when the Gepo is searching the whole of Wanka for you. Still, tell me, what do I say when it is discovered that Erwin Galen never actually made this trip to Darmdorf?"

"I've got it covered," the old Admiral said reassuringly, "I know Erwin from Meinhof's early days. He will say that he's come down here if asked. In reality, he just went home for today- Panzerkorps II isn't going to see much action in the next hours anyway."

"Well, I'm sure I can trust you with this. So, Wilhelm, what brings you here?"

In his long journey with Meinhof, Admiral Kanaris had made effort in cultivating some very strong friendships in nearly every government department, and this was going to pay off. He had contacts practically everywhere, and the DIKK (Democratic Initiative for the Conservation of the Constitution) was now the most powerful anti-governmental group. And keeping it secret wasn't too difficult, when one considered the fact that the majority were intelligence agents who knew how to cover their tracks.

The Admiral got straight to the point. "What do you think of Sonneborn?"

General Wedell was taken aback. But he did not hold back after he overcame his initial hesitation.

"He's a madman, and now a dictator. Officially, the Septentrion League may have started this war, but it's pretty obvious, to army circles anyway, that we were going to start it had they not bombed the reactor. We were waiting for an excuse to invade. I'm in the military to defend my country, not to attack others. It seems as though I'm the only one in the General Staff who thinks like that, though. It happened all so quickly, with Meinhof's assassination, and then suddenly we're on course for war. I did occasionally doubt Meinhof, but now I wish she was still here. This madness will only have a destructive and bloody ending."

"Sonneborn attempted to have Meinhof killed."

"What?"

"Listen carefully. She's not dead yet, and there may be a way of resolving this issue… and maintaining the status quo. We will have to wait for the right time, however. The war has been started, and we will need to see how it develops…"

The two men stayed hunched over the desk as the old mastermind outlined his plan, which was already in motion. The DIKK had already established contact with Sylvan intelligence and was about to hand over the first batch of actual information. Not that they'd give it directly to their contact in Wanka. At night, an Abwehr courier crossed the porous Wanka-UT border and made its way into the United Territories. Here, the information would be handed over.

Affenberg Internment Camp

The Affenberg Internment Camp, set up in January 2016, currently contains 206 Saxon prisoners (captured presumably from northern Saxony) and 41 Sylvans, most of them pilots. 30 of whom are in urgent need of medical help. Already 56 have died due to maltreatment and denial of medical assistance by Wankan soldiers, and casualties are expected to rise as the planned program for ethnic Sylvan POWs include hard labour in deadly conditions. The camp is supposed to be the temporary home for prisoners of war as other locations have been filled up by the influx of war refugees. The prisoners are expected to be moved in a week.

 **Camp Security**

The interment camp itself is located 21 kilometers east of the town of Affenberg, and 180km east of Potsdam. The surroundings consist of flat grasslands and fields, with one road leading from Affenberg to the UT border. Possible helicopter landing zones and aircraft landing strip have been identified and marked on the maps. Camp guards number at 52, excluding civilian staff. They are lightly-armed, mostly with G-74 or other older variants. Two MG-3 machine guns can be expected, but no other heavy weaponry. Images of camp and surroundings with annotations are attached in the following pages.

The 312th Füsilier-Regiment is stationed in Affenberg. It is under-strength and consists of two motorized infantry battalions (800 troops) and a tank platoon (3x Panzer-90s). 6x Spz-10 are also present. Heavy weaponry is lacking as most equipment and other units are located in warehouses and barracks further south. Estimated response time is half an hour. Two more Landwehr infantry battalions can also be mobilized on short notice. Rotor and fixed-wing air support may be available, originating from the Potsdam Air Base.

Further heavily armored units of the 9th Panzer Division are located 110 kilometers away, estimated response time is 3 hours. Distance to UT border is roughly 110km.

 **Marquess Hall  
Dresden  
09:00AM**

The movements of regular citizens through the streets of Dresden had become an incredibly rare occurrence, many only venturing out to buy food and petrol for their cars. Most of the capital's rich ethnic Sylvans had vacated their luxury penthouses and apartments, fleeing across the border to Sylva for their own safety. The only Saxons remaining in the capital were those of the military assigned to defend the city, Saxon civilians too paralysed or too poor to find safe passage for themselves and, of course, Duke Mattin, who had his wife Terese and their infant son Andoni evacuated to Freiberg, where the League would, for the moment, be able to ensure their protection. The Duke and Colonel Abene, Saxony's premier military head, poured over maps and reports of recent days that detailed Wankan assaults across Saxony's border and the response from the Septentrion League. Mattin rubbed his eyes with tiredness; he, Abene and other military commanders had all been scrutinising the Wankan movements, trying to detect some weakness that they could exploit with their limited military resources. The problem was, the professional elements of the Saxon Defence Forces were already tied up in fighting along the border and moving militia groups meant leaving the Sylvan forces behind the frontline unsupported, which could be a deadly mistake considering how rapidly the war was reaching from west to east.

The Duke sat in Marquess Hall's Briefing Room at the end of a long conference table, his head in his hands partly from tiredness and partly from thinking the main danger was from Wanko-Saxons betraying the country to Sonneborn, when in fact the real danger was from within defecting militia units. It was a mistake Mattin believed to be his error, though really, the fault lay with Colonel Abene and his commanders for not conducting proper screening on militia personnel when the trouble all started. "How did I let this happen Colonel? How could I… put Saxony in such a desperate position?"

Abene and two accompanying Lieutenant Colonels were going over recent communications with the Sylvans with each other when the Duke's comment caught them off guard. Abene, who was also sat at the table on the Duke's left side with his two commanders, opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again to think of an appropriate sentence, and finally opening it once more. "Your Highness, my command team in the field has been in contact with me, they've-"

"I don't care about the damn war, Abene!" shouted the Duke, clearly frustrated and slamming his hands on the table. "I want to know why… why I didn't listen to Sonneborn, why I couldn't avert this, why I didn't advise the Council to put plans for our membership of the League on hold whilst we sorted this out. Instead… thousands are dying and I can't lift a finger to stop it."

Abene ordered his two Lt. Colonels to leave the room and they did so promptly. The Colonel rose from his seat and walked over to the young Duke, who was by now about to start sobbing, placing a wrinkled, veined hand on his shoulder. "Your Highness, I apologise, but I am not good at these sorts of things. All I can say is that you must not fret over why the war couldn't have been stopped, only how it must end, and it has to end, for the sake of Saxony. You, Your Highness, must remain strong for your people and your family. With the support of the League, we cannot fail, we can beat the Wankans, we will triumph."

The Duke looked up at Abene. It was clear to him why the Colonel was in the position he was, Mattin felt his spirits lifted slightly. The Duke rose from his seat and composed himself, brushing off his shirt and running his hands over his hair. "Alright, alright Colonel. Tell me what the situation is, what can we do?"

Abene looked at the Duke gravely, rubbing a hand on his chin as he thought of what to say. "I have ordered our commanding officers in the field to do all they can and work in conjecture with each other according to their groups. Unfortunately, a majority of the Southern Corps disobeyed orders from the Sylvan general in charge of the area and have suffered enormous losses. The Wankan advance on the other fronts is slow, but…"

"…but they're winning. I understand, Colonel. What do you have in mind?"

"We're depending on the Sylvans now, Your Highness. Our militia will stay positioned around the highways and cities, unless otherwise instructed by a Saxon or allied commander to reinforce a certain position. What we have on the frontline is all that's left of our full-time regular forces so I plan to ask the League's members for more military aid. Without it, Dresden may be in Wankan hands within the next fortnight."

Mattin sat back down, rubbing his forehead. "I see, in that case we'll have to start making preparations to evacuate the city, tell them to get to Freiberg or see if the Sylvans will open their borders to refugees. I'll talk to Councillor Erramun and see if he can rally the Council behind the idea, as well as support you in your requests for more troops."

Abene remained standing as the Duke looked out over the papers on the table, Mattin cradled his chin in his hand, leaning his elbow on the polished oak surface before looking back up at the Colonel, who seemed like he wasn't finished. "…What? What is it, Abene?"

"The… the 6th Militia stationed next to Osterwald forest has reported strange sightings, sir."

"Sightings? Of what? Wankans?"

"We're not sure Your Highness. It started two days before the invasion when the night watches started saying they saw lights deeper in the forest, like torches. They've investigated on multiple occasions during the daylight but their searches turned up nothing, though the lights continue to persist."

The Duke sat up straight, intrigued and slightly disturbed. "You're sure they aren't Wankans? Maybe Sylvans moving through the woods from the fighting over the southern border?"

"There's no messages from the Sylvan High Command about any units in that area and the Wankans would have attacked when the invasion started. Last night, the 6th's corporals kept telling their lieutenants they saw men, silhouettes in military gear darting in and out of the trees. They say they managed to shine a spotlight through the trees briefly to see the gear these men were wearing were not recognised as being from the Septentrion League, or the Wankans, before the strangers darted away over a mound and out of sight."

"You're suggesting the involvement of a third party? Another nation?"

"I think we should consider all possibilities, Your Highness."

 **The Count's House  
Port Prince  
10:12AM**

The war had progressed faster than Ivan had expected. Already, the Wankans were making headway into Saxony and the Septentrion League were having trouble halting their advance. It was the exactly what the ambitious prince had wanted and, with the support he had garnered from the military, Aemen intelligence and, most importantly, the Folcwaldings, Ivan was ready to make his move, something he had to do before the Wankans reached Dresden and were able to complete their annexation.

Ivan was sat in his office on the second floor of the Count's House, where he often met with his business associates. He was waiting for his father to arrive and bestow upon him permission to command and oversee the incursion into Saxony. He leant back in his leather chair, playing with a porcelain globe of the world in his hands and staring up at the ceiling, which bore a painting of a romantic depiction of Folcwalding, the first king of Aemen who lived more than four millennia ago, whose figure was bathed in light and long, flowing robes which was held onto the legendary hero's body by bright golden armour. The rest of the people in the painting bowed to Folcwalding as he held a sword aloft over them in one hand and gripped a crown in the other. To think, Ivan thought to himself, that he was descended from someone once so revered.

The prince's thought was interrupted when he heard the door to his office swing open. He looked down with a grin on his face, expecting to see his father, only to be met by the fiery gaze of his younger brother, Prince Alexander, who was approaching his desk quite quickly. Ivan stood up, putting the globe down on the desk, and walked around to shake his brother's hand when Alexander delivered a right hook to Ivan's cheek, causing Ivan to spin around and grab onto his desk with both hands for balance. Ivan rubbed his cheek, standing up and turning around to meet his father's favourite child, who looked like he was ready to deliver another blow. "It's nice to see you too, brother."

Alexander was furious. "What the hell are you doing Ivan!?" he shouted. "Do you know what kind of position you've put me in? Do you even think about what your actions will do to others!?"

"If I did, would I feel more from that punch?" Ivan replied, chuckling ever so slightly.

"Stop it, brother, because this is not funny, not this time. You're about to invade another country, a country that is allied to Sylva, for its money!? How did you even talk father into supporting that idea? What am I supposed to tell Mariana when my own brother snatches Saxony from one of Sylva's allies!?"

"That it's just business? Or perhaps that I've taken the decision to forcibly keep the peace? What should I care for what your Sylvan wench thinks."

Alexander raised his fist to hit Ivan again, but was stopped by the sound of a familiar voice coming from behind. "Alexander!"

Both princes looked over to the doorway to see their father, King Reginald, standing there staring at the two of them. The King walked towards the pair, peering at them with that disappointed visage that haunted the princes' childhood. "What is the meaning of this?"

Alexander was the first to speak up, pointing towards Ivan. "Father, how can you let him do this? How can you let Ivan go through with this sham!?"

Reginald said nothing, instead he walked past his sons to Ivan's desk and picked up the small porcelain globe that was resting on its surface. He held it up to Alexander. "Tell me, Alexander, where is Aemen on this?"

"Father-"

"Where is Aemen on this globe?"

Alexander pointed to a small but sizeable portion of land marked 'Aemen' on the globe's map. Reginald lowered his arm, looking his son straight in the eyes. "We are surrounded by enemies, Alexander. Enemies will stay enemies until it suits them not to be, whilst allies will become enemies once they sense we are no longer useful to them. Do you know the only thing that stops our enemies from destroying us now?"

Alexander and Ivan were silent whilst Reginald placed the globe back on the desk. "Fear, Alexander. Fear of our strength, fear of what we can do in retaliation. Your ancestors didn't build a kingdom such as ours on soft policy and diplomacy, they knew what to do, what had to be done. They weren't afraid of bloodshed for they understood its necessity. This single act we inflict on the Saxons will serve two purposes; it will stimulate our economy and enforce the notion that the Aemen are a force to be reckoned with."

Alexander looked at his father, motionless, before lowering his head. "Yes, father. I understand, but… but Mariana…"

"Yes, the Sylvan princess. You are to tell her that I have seen fit for Aemen forces to take control of Saxony for the time being. I will name Ivan duke once Dresden is secured and request any other military forces within the country to return to their home nations. You will tell her I am doing this in the name of peace on the continent and that I refuse to see this escalate beyond Saxony's borders whilst Ivan and the political and military teams from the Ministries of Initiative and Relations ensure that tensions in the country are defused."

"Father-"

"This will, of course, all be a lie. I have no intention of relinquishing Saxony, I have no intention of letting its ducal family ever regain their title and I have no real concern whether or not the other nations agree to my terms, but I know they will not risk another war to rival the Pan-Septentrion conflicts of the past. Even Sonneborn, for all that Wankan whelp is worth, wouldn't risk a move that would upset his fragile position of power and the Sylvans, the Organised States, the so-called League, dare not think of opening an Aemen front with possible Achesian support. Do you understand?"

Alexander could only nod. He knew this was simply another lesson, as his father used to say, in what it was to lead, to rule, to be a king. It was all about strength in the Olbridge family and if you couldn't accept that, you had no place as an Aemen prince. "I… I understand, father. I will tell Mariana when I next meet with her."

"When you next meet with her you will have no choice, our forces will already have landed in Saxony. Now leave, Alexander, and reflect on what I have told you."

Alexander looked at his father one last time, his expression having turned from one of regret and sadness to one of compliance and dutifulness. The Heir Apparent nodded and turned, without looking at Ivan and calmly walked out of the entrance to the office. Reginald knew that, out of all of his children, he could rely on Alexander the most to ensure his legacy continued after he was gone. The King turned to Ivan, who was still massaging his cheek. "You have my assent to begin the peacekeeping mission in Saxony. You and Field Marshal Bezuidenhout will command all military efforts and you will also sit alongside the High Minister of Relations on all press conferences concerning your efforts and motivations for the action we are taking. Do not disappoint me, Ivan."


	10. For God and Country

**Internal Security Headquarters  
Bethesda, Gerencer, Commonwealth of Sylva  
2200 hours | 13 March 2016**

"It certainly is interesting information," InSec director James LeBlanc said, stroking his small goatee as he reviewed the intelligence. "Two-hundred fifty prisoners…with a one-to-five guard compliment…It's doable."

"Precisely."

"And with all this bad press going around about the SL loosing the war, the public could certainly use a pick me up."

The heads around the table nodded in agreement. "Very well," LeBlanc said, placing his feet on top of the table. "Please enlighten me on the plan for escape you have devised."

"Yes, sir. As you know, The Affenberg Internment Camp, set up in January 2016, currently contains 206 Saxon prisoners and 41 Sylvans, most of them pilots. 30 of whom are in urgent need of medical help. Already 56 have died due to maltreatment and denial of medical assistance by Wankan soldiers, and casualties are expected to rise as the planned program for ethnic Sylvan POWs include hard labour in deadly conditions. The camp is supposed to be the temporary home for prisoners of war as other locations have been filled up by the influx of war refugees. The prisoners are expected to be moved in a week.

"The interment camp itself is located 21 kilometers east of the town of Affenberg, and 180km east of Potsdam. The surroundings consist of flat grasslands and fields, with one road leading from Affenberg to the UT border. Possible helicopter landing zones and aircraft landing strip have been identified and marked on the maps. Camp guards number at 52, excluding civilian staff. They are lightly-armed, mostly with G-74 or other older variants. Two MG-3 machine guns can be expected, but no other heavy weaponry. Images of camp and surroundings with annotations are attached in the following pages.

"As for a possible Wankan response, the 312th Füsilier-Regiment is stationed in Affenberg. It is under-strength and consists of two motorized infantry battalions (800 troops) and a tank platoon (3x Panzer-90s). 6x Spz-10 are also present. Heavy weaponry is lacking as most equipment and other units are located in warehouses and barracks further south. Estimated response time is half an hour. Two more Landwehr infantry battalions can also be mobilized on short notice. Rotor and fixed-wing air support may be available, originating from the Potsdam Air Base. Further heavily armored units of the 9th Panzer Division are located 110 kilometers away, estimated response time is 3 hours."

"So how do we get them out?"

"I say we insert two teams. One team will be targeting the Wankans' IADS system near Potsdam so that we can shut down their radar long enough to slip in the second team, which will be dressed in Wankan uniforms and using Wankan weapons. They will be inserted as a company sized force near the prison, under the command of a supposed Wankan Brigadier General. Once the second team has been inserted the infil helos will depart. As for releasing the prisoners, we will do it quietly – with a fake packet of orders saying that the prisoners are being moved. They will move the prisoners into the vehicles requisitioned from the camp itself and make their way towards Potsdam Air Force Base. Once there, I can arrange for our agents within the Wankan Air Force to prepare three transport aircraft. Once inside they will fly south, towards the coast. From there, our contacts within the Wankan Mafia will smuggle our people into the Sellenland and then into Aemen.."

"The Sellenland? That's a hostile nation! Why not the United Territories?"

"It's to obvious," the presenter explained. "The Wankans will expect us to do exactly that. And if we move them through the UT, which aren't exactly friendly towards the SL as it is, we're not sure that we can get our men back."

"If they are discovered wearing Wankan uniforms, they will be shot as spies…" LeBlanc said. "This will have to be a volunteer-only mission, understand?"

"Understood, sir."

"You have my clearance for it. Get what you need. We have to move quickly – I want this op run by the 18th of March, understand?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

 **First Reconnaissance Battalion  
Allgau Mountain Range, Volksrepublik Wanka  
0100 hours | 14 March 2016**

Captain Palmer shivered as her small boat crossed the Seine river. She wasn't sure if it was because of the spring frost or because she was scared that she and the rest of her battalion would be discovered – they were, after all, now crossing behind enemy lines. When word had first come that the First Recon would no longer be serving as the Fourth Division's vanguard, it was met with anger and frustration. They had, after all, been doing fantastic work – making sure the remnants of the once great Wankan Twenty-Ninth Division didn't leave the Sylvans any nasty surprises in the form of mines of ambushes. The Fourth's advance had been halted just inside the Upper Seine Valley to give the division's supply lines time to catch up. Meanwhile, the Air Force pounded away at the rapidly assembling Wankan Fourth Army, which was preparing to defend the city of Wallis with two divisions of mountain infantry and mechanized forces.

But the First Recon's new job was much more important, it was decided. They had been shipped south via helicopter with orders to cross the Seine River halfway between Wallis and Bad Eisenach in order to shut down the Wankan's supply routes along the vital A53 motorway. This was the First Recon's ideal kind of mission – a high risk, high importance, aggressive reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines.

As the boat impacted the rocky sands of the opposite shoreline, Palmer dived over the front of the boat, rifle at the ready. It was unlikely that any Wankans were here besides perhaps a hunter; but she had to be ready just in case. Then again, if there were any, they likely would have shot at the Rangers while they were crossing.

Palmer's company was the first of four companies of Rangers that would be staging the operations around the A53, and the first to cross the Seine River. Immediately they dispersed themselves into the woodlands, taking up sniping positions and searching the surrounding area. High above the First Recon, a stealthy ARV-5 Eagle Eye drone glided in the sky, giving the commanders on the ground an idea of what lay before them – which, luckily for the Rangers, was nothing.

Within fifteen minutes all four companies of Rangers were across the Seine with no casualties – save two men who had fallen in the water and were now frostbitten. They would be CASEVAC back to a hospital in Sylva, and would most likely survive. Meanwhile, the Rangers made the ten mile hike from the west bank of the Seine to the A53 motorway, which they would establish chokepoints and lay ambushes. Much had been learned by the Sylvans of the effectiveness of small teams of experienced guerrilla fighters, ironically enough, from the Wankans when they invaded the Sellenland. Now, the Sylvans would be doing the same thing to any Wankan Army troops going north or south on the A53.

The Rangers divided into groups of ten for every two miles. Five Rangers would cover one side and five the other, for every two miles of highway. The heaviest weapons they had brought with them were 12.7 mm light machine guns, .50 caliber anti-material rifles, and Javelin missile launchers. Unfortunately for the Sylvans one of the boats carrying their extra Javelin missiles was lost in the crossing – leaving each launcher only the single missile it was loaded with. However the LMG ammo and the .50 cals had survived – and for each group of five Rangers there were one of each – one LMG, one anti-material-rifle, and one Javelin – with the last two Rangers using 5.56 mm designated marksmanship rifles, or the RBL (Rifle de Battala Luz), the Sylvan standard-issue.

The Rangers' command post was set up in one of many abandoned shacks, this particular one an old miner's station hidden between the trees. Here they had set up the battalion's communications equipment and the drone uplink, which would provide the Rangers with vital intelligence as long as it was allowed to stay in the air.

Knowing that the Wankers would probably attempt to shoot it down once discovered, as they had done in the Sellenland, the Air Force had provided two more ARV-5s to take its place and a single ARV-4 Reaper drone, which was armed with Hellfire missiles. However these three drones were located some seventy miles east – so it would take time before they could come to replace the drone currently airborne.

The grand strategy was rather simple – the Fourth Infantry Division was split between two groups. One group, in the north, were two mechanized brigades (The Thirty-Second and Thirty-Sixth), one combat aviation brigade (The Twenty-First) and an auxiliary armored cavalry regiment (The Twenty-Ninth), and in the south were two other mechanized brigades (The Forty-Fifth and Forty-Eighth). Major General Clarke's strategy was for the Rangers to be the anvil and the two southern brigades to be the hammer. They would smash the Wankan division based in Bad Eisenach, and when it retreated northwards, it would be cut down by the Rangers on the A53. At the same time the bulk of the Fourth Infantry Division in the north would march on Wallis, hopefully defeating the two Wankan divisions based there. If the Wankans retreated southwards from Wallis, they too would be cut down by the Rangers. It was obvious to Command that a battalion of Rangers could not straight-up defeat a division of Wankan soldiers – so the First Recon would act more of a grinder, slowing progress and inflicting casualties on the Wankans that retreated either north or south on the A53.

It all looked well and good on paper, but Palmer and her Rangers couldn't help but wonder if it would work that well in practice, when the division resumed its offensive on 18 March.

 **SL Western Forces General Headquarters  
Corbinsburg, Commonwealth of Sylva  
1200 hours | 14 March 2016**

 _"Fuck this shit!"_ General Sebastian Reyes yelled, and his aid flinched as an empty bottle of whiskey crashed against the wall with the sound of breaking glass. "Slowed down by civilian traffic…" Reyes cursed under his breath. He slammed his fist against the table in frustration.

In his other hand he held a telegram from Sylvan High Command telling him that the First Cavalry Division, which was moving from Camp McCarren south of Portsmouth all the way across the Commonwealth, would be delayed twelve hours. They were currently held up in Soldado Del Sol, where the computers controlling the train yards outside the city had crashed. They were back online now – but the delay caused had forced the First Cavalry and its vehicles to sit idly on the train as the yard emptied. They had the absolute priority…but even so, the delay had cost the First Cav nearly twenty four hours, bringing the total time before deployment to four days. That was four days that the Wankans could continue pushing Reyes' forces back. Four days of retreat. Four more days of _defeat_.

But once the First Calvary Division arrived in Saxony, Reyes would have enough forces to launch a counterattack. And if that was successful, that counterattack could become an entire counteroffensive, and switch the tides of the war. At least, in theory.

"Sir, Major General Lyons is on line three," an aid said. General Lyons had taken over for General Montoya, who had been killed in a head-on collision with an armored vehicle hours before. Talk about bad luck – to be killed in a car wreck during a war, and when his country needed him most.

Reyes picked up the phone. "Reyes here," he said gruffly. "What's the situation?"

"General, after the Twelfth Infantry was slaughtered, morale along the central front has turned from bad to worse. Numerous Saxon forces have also been inspired by the infantry regiments in the west that have defied the general retreat order, and have deserted to join the partisan units. The good news is that the Thirteenth Armored Division is now in position along the Spur and El Camino Real. I'm moving the Seventeenth Brigade towards Hill 869, to support the Seventh Airborne Division. The Wankans are hitting us hard along the Central Front…if they break through, well, I'm not sure what we're going to do."

"We must hold Hill 869. My plan is to launch a counterattack along the Weser to trap the Wankan First Army between the First Cavalry Division and our defensive lines around Chemnitz. But we can't launch that offensive if Hill 869 falls. I need four days, Daniel. Hold the line for four days!"

"Understood, sir. Lyons out."

 **Brahms-Hertz Kaserne  
Northern Sector, Saxony  
1500 hours | 14 March 2016**

"Dear God..." Militia Corporal R. D. Thompson peered over his foxhole and watched as Wankan troops, tanks, and vehicles moved across the countryside unopposed. Aircraft had already begun screaming overhead and the Wankan Army would shortly be upon them; militiamen of the National Partisan Organization, a volunteers organization independent of the military that employed those too young, too old, or otherwise not part of the reserves, were now the first line of defense. "Here they come" he murmured. The regular army had retreated without so much as firing a shot, under the command of General Reyes; the NPO, however, would not adhere to the command of the Sylvan General. They had taken over operation of the base, determined to hold the line.

"There's thousands of them!" a young private, Henderson, in his section, sixteen and a half, gasped, holding tightly to his rifle. "And with tanks...resistance will surely be futile!"

"Hold your fire until they're inside the killzone." the Corporal stated to his section, "Our rockets will deal with their tanks, don't you worry about that." The Wankans advanced closer, moving down roads and through foliage like an ever advancing wave, with the military base's NPO Battalion having more than an appropriate view. The base was the last line of defense between the Wankans and the Army at Chemnitz; and 50 yards ahead of it, a stream with a strong bridge ran; the primary road entrance into the base crossed over this stream and within direct gunfire range of their position. The land was not flat but hardly hilly; some small hillocks, patches of trees, and a few houses here and there.

"They're getting closer..."

A moment later, a whoosh of a rocket, and then another; two ATGMs streaming from above the heads of the NPO militia and heading down into the command vehicles of the Wankan advance, distinguishable from their whip antennae and other features. Gunfire exchange was immediate and vast. The chatter of machine guns and the roar of tank guns from the Wankan Tenth Fusileer Division ended the waiting. The tanks, arrayed in enfilade, were easy pickings for the determined NPO anti-tank crews. Already the first column was ablaze with smoke from the ATGM fire, but the tables were turning. A formation of Wankan tanks had broken out and was advancing near the bridge, which promptly exploded when the first tank crossed it. And then, the infantry arrived.

Hundreds upon hundreds of small green figures, hitting the floor along the stream bank and engaging with machine gun and rifle the Wankan partisans on the hill while they waited for their bridging vehicles, some of which were laying burnt out in the road. Mortars and light self-propelled guns pounded the Saxon positions. Thompson tucked his RBL into his shoulder and squeezed off a few rounds, the rest of the section and indeed the Battalion following his lead. "Oh my God!" Henderson screamed, dropping his rifle as a plume of smoke rose up behind the dug-in section who were lying prone and firing over a man-made defilade. "Get me the fuck out of here!" he jumped up and another section member jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground. "This is fucking crazy! Get the fuck off me! Get me out of here!"

"Do you want to be killed, son!?" Thompson screamed as the NPO militiamen began to falter, taking fire which was increasing in both volume and accuracy, as the Wankans found their mark. The 200 yards between the invaders and the Saxon positions was a blizzard of lead. In response, Henderson only wept and screamed more as one of their section was hit in the head by a Wankan round, falling backwards with a worried yet determined look still on his face, now complemented with a neat red dot just below the hairline. "Forget it, let him run and die if he wants." Thompson ordered to the surprised militiaman restraining Henderson, who took a moment to comprehend the order, but then let him and go and returned to his post. The boy scrambled up the hill and was met with a stream of Wanker bullets tearing into the grass. He launched himself back down into the defilade and sat shivering and sweating in the middle of the battlefront. Slowly and perhaps involuntarily, he curled up and hugged the ground, shaking and staring at nothing in particular.

Within twenty minutes the battalion of NPO volunteers had been overwhelmed. Those who had not been been killed or fled were taken prisoner; and by 15:30 hours the last bastion of defense before Chemnitz had fallen into Wankan hands.

 **Third Army | Western Sector  
~20 km to Zwickau | Saxony  
Day 4 | 1600 hours | March 1** **4** **th, 2016  
**

The heavy thumping of the rotor blades was soon drowned out as the large UH-99s neared the battlefield. Down below, Hauptmann Zweistein could recognize Wankan armor, surging forward into the city. The defensive lines on the outskirts of Zwickau had been quickly broken by massed artillery and strikes coupled with an assault on all fronts, with Wankan panzer spearheads attacking along four different axes. However, in the city itself, the fighting quickly intensified. Leading armor columns with inadequate infantry support were completely destroyed in cleverly laid ambushes. The first and the last tanks of the column were immobilized first, often from positions of high elevation in the numerous high rise buildings. From there, the stationary tanks proved to be easy pickings. Recovering from the first few failed incursions, the Wankers launched more coordinated assaults, this time with infantry following close behind to protect the armor from anti-tank gunners.

Toward noon, the Saxons found themselves being squashed in a tighter and tighter enclave around the city center. Both sides had suffered heavy casualties, and despite the numerous warnings to the artillery corps and Air Force, much of the city had been bombed to rubble with only few pathways clear for tanks to move through. The Füsiliers now took charge, clearing buildings room by room. When a stronghold could not be taken, platoons of Fallschirmjäger were called in by choppers, as rehearsed. Like now.

The Saxons were positioned well, Zweistein could see. Hunkering down amongst the rubble, they could easily pick off advancing Wankan riflemen. The sewage system was put to good use with near constant harassing fire delivered by hit-and-run squads who appeared from nowhere behind Wankan lines, brought down a few helpless soldiers, and then disappeared. His UH-99 jolted suddenly as an anti-aircraft gun began drawing a bead on the chopper. The pilot said something in rapid-fire German and in front of them, a KH-9 "Krieger" recon chopper responded, veering away from the formation before releasing a load of rockets at the AA gun, which promptly shut up. The Krieger kept closing in with the ground, its minigun suddenly coming alive, sweeping away several pestering machine-gun nests which occasionally sent bullets at the heavily armored transport choppers. The UH-99 pilot thanked the Krieger pilots, and soon the big helicopter descended toward its target: a police training compound temporarily converted into an unsurmountable stronghold. Another Krieger cleared the roof of the main building with its minigun, paving the way for Zweistein's air assault company.

Under heavy small arms fire, the choppers landed on the roof as the Kriegers hovered overhead, miniguns blazing, accompanied by the occasional rocket or missile. The paratroopers wasted no time. Storming out of the chopper, Zweistein, holding his SG-550 ready, lead the way into the building. The rifle was amongst the most advance that the Wankers had developed to date, although it did suffer from reliability issues, unlike the ubiquitos G-74. Still, the best they could offer to what amounted to more or less the largest special forces units on earth. He wondered if the Saxons had heard them arrive. As they approached a door on the top floor, they could hear heavy firing, most likely a machine gun, from the other side. Zweistein kicked open the door. Behind him, a corporal hurled in a cooked grenade, which detonated after the first bounce. As the Fallschirmjäger moved in, they were met with an ugly sight as befits a war zone. One of the gunners was on the floor, still moving; Zweistein put a round into his head without hesitation. The company was too few in number to take prisoners.

Rapidly, the Saxon guns of the police HQ fell silent, to the great relief of the assaulting Füsiliers advancing in from the north. Zweistein, bleeding from a round which strafed his right arm, had just received confirmation that the building was cleared as a loud crashing sound was heard outside. A Krieger had met its nasty end, bringing along another four unlucky Wankan Füsiliers down with them. But with mortar rounds now pounding the newly-captured stronghold, there was little time for mourning. The Füsiliers and Fallschirmjägers braced themselves for the next fights.

Their tactics seemed to be working and it seemed as though the Saxons would surrender before the day ended. But that wouldn't be the case. Rain began hammering down on the ruins of Zwickau, rendering chopper assaults impossible and making air support too difficult and risky. It did, however, seem to have dampened the fighting spirit not only of the Wankers but also the Saxons, and the remaining troops of the 4th and 5th Infantry Regiments (Saxon) surrendered later that day.

 **Second Armored Regiment (Saxon)  
Central Sector, Saxony  
1700 hours | 14 March 2016**

The entire line erupted in fire. The artillery barrage had ended, and hundreds of yards away, the Wankan advance had resumed. Tanks clashed with tanks. Guns clashed with guns. Overhead, planes danced in the sky and on the ground below, the embattled Saxon defenders gave the best they could. At long ranges, the RBL rifle was absolutely deadly and it would come to represent a grave morale issue to the Wankers. They had been told that their opponents were just farmboys and partisans who couldn't fight and couldn't shoot a damn. That was not the case. Most Sylvans, and indeed, Saxons as well, learned to shoot, and to shoot well, from an early age. Such was their way of life. And now, they were putting it into full effect, picking off Wankans from ranges where their own rifle fire was ineffective.

With more equipment, more troops, and most of all, more preparation, the story could have been different. Without those things, Major General Lyons realized that his troops couldn't hold for as long as he had previously thought. The enemy was coming in hard and fast. Every time they withdrew they returned with fresh and determined troops. Every time Lyons's men gave them a bloody good see-ing to (as his old father used to call it), they'd be back, just like the last time. It was true, the Wankans had reserves. Lyons did not. He could count on a small stream of reinforcements, but it didn't make up the casualties he was taking. At some point they would have to break or face total annihilation. The purpose of his stand was to give time for the men in his rear to mobilize.

The General climbed into his Land Rover and the driver sped off east, towards Hill 869.

His own personal command, the Seventh Airborne Division, was valiantly holding the line there. If one or the other broke, the other would have to. It was a sort of deadly competition to see who could hold out the longer, and both were under intense attack. And for the defenders along the central sector, time was running out.

 **Hill 869  
Central Sector | Saxony  
20:00 hours | 16 March 2016**

Hill 869 was the key link in the defense of the eastern flank of the central sector. From the viewpoint, many miles could be seen in all directions, and what artillery and air support the League could muster could be brought down upon the enemy. Should they take the hill, the converse would be true, and as such, Major General Lyons' Seventh Airborne Division had been instructed to hold the hill at all costs. At his disposal, Lyons had three brigades of motorized paratroopers and an armored battalion, plus an assortment of support formations from the Thirteenth Armored Division. The trucks and other vehicles that couldn't be used in the defense itself were stationed at the bottom of the hill, running reinforcements and supplies back and forth along the defense line, from as far southwest as the Spur and as far southeast as El Camino Real.

"Oh my God," Lyons coughed. In the distance, there was movement. Orange flashes lit up the night sky as artillery began firing, preparing for another onslaught. Wankans.

And lots of them.

 **The Noble Quarter  
Dresden, Duchy of Saxony  
2100 hours | 16 March 2016**

The clink of champagne glasses. The smell of cigar smoke. Olivia's father's position in society meant that she was already used to functions such as this, but this was... a little different. There was a certain mood. Olivia sat with her mother in her best dress as lots of men watched in silence as the Duke spoke on the television. Olivia Faraday was the epitome of the rich Saxon childhood. She was being trained not only at school, but also how to entertain guests; how to be feminine and womanly, and how to act properly and in a manner that befitted her status. The war threatened to cut all that short, but she wouldn't know it from the atmosphere in the room. This was jubilation; not just any sort of jubilation, but a vicious, warlike jubilation. The speech ended and the men started cheering and clapping.

"A toast," her father said, "To the Duke, to our patriotic armed forces, and to liberty!"

Everybody joined in. It didn't occur to Olivia yet that they were, by proxy, toasting the deaths of the enemy. She watched as the Duke's face faded away on the television to be replaced with pictures and footage of soldiers and guns that she didn't really recognize.

Suddenly, after the toast finished, a news headline shot up on the screen. "ZWICKAU FALLS."

Silence fell over the crowd. The time for jubilation was over.

 **SL Western Forces General Headquarters  
Corbinsburg, Commonwealth of Sylva  
23:00 hours | 16 March 2016**

The Wankans were coming in hard and fast. They were coming with everything they had; artillery, tanks, aircraft, waves upon waves of infantry. General Reyes wiped sleep from his eyes and lit another cigarette as he surveyed his tactical map. A thin green line lay along the salient which was being hammered from the air and by massive artillery bombardments. The Wankans weren't trying to find one part of the line they could break through, a schwerpunkt; they were trying to overwhelm it all. It made sense, Reyes thought. They had weight of numbers and on paper should have broken the defenses hours ago. If they correctly estimated that the vast majority of the troop the Saxons and Sylvans could muster were deployed to the front and crushing them all simultaneously was a sound plan.

If one point broke, the others would have to to avoid being encircled. It would cause a general retreat, Reyes had realized. There wasn't much he could do to stop it. All now depended on whether the men in the central sector could hold their ground before reinforcements in the form of the First Cavalry Division mobilized. Luckily, the airspace was still contested, with the state's IADS avoiding destruction due to its high mobility, and the mobile artillery was also doing an admirable job in counter-battery operations. Reyes' job was now to facilitate the proper movement – a good word for retreat - of forces to the front. It was up to his field commanders and the troops to do the fighting.

In the west, Zwickau had fallen – meaning that the Wankans were now steamrolling towards his forces along the Spur, determined too break through and encircle the Sylvans and Saxons defending the central front, which was quickly becoming the central salient as the Wankan First and Third Armies surrounded it like pincers.

"Sir, urgent news from the central sector!"

"What is it?"

"The Wankans, sir. They've thrown in the Fourth and Fifth Panzer Divisions into the attack. Hill 869 is on the verge of falling…Lyons says he can't hold the line any longer!"

"Then we have no choice. Send the orders down to the Twenty-Second Combat Aviation Brigade. We must retake that hill!"

"But sir," the aid protested, "They are our last reserves!"

"Well, I cant think of a better time to use them."

 **22\. Combat Aviation Brigade  
Central Sector | Saxony  
0100 hours | 17 March 2016**

Lights illuminated the field that made up the brigade's headquarters, flashing on and off and from color to color, throwing up long and contorted shadows of the operators running to and fro. Distant shouts were obscured by the whirr of rotor blades. "Good luck boys!" Corporal Keyes looked into the eyes of Brigadier General Maldanado. In the darkness, he thought he could make out a hint of regret. For who, though, was not entirely clear.

"What did he say?" A private shouted over the rotor blades, watching the Brigadier walk off to the next helicopter.

"He said – it's a good day to die!" another private replied, barely audible. Across the field, a helicopter lifted into the air, followed by another, and another, taking off into the sky and taking their place in the busy night. Soon, they too were lifted into the air to join their comrades. Forty Vertibirds and two dozen Little Birds carried a pair of airmobile battalions due north, their destination: Hill 869. They were joined minutes later by a squadron of gunships and moving north, the soldiers on board the helicopters watched column after column of jets stream off into the sky. Neither envied the other. Both their roles were as suicidal as each others.

Shortly, the hill came into view. The Air Force was doing the best it could to distract and suppress the enemies air defenses, but on approach, their best was not enough. A few helicopters dropped out of the sky, their unfortunate occupants falling to the ground, but moments later, the gunships laid down withering fire on Hill 869, rocket pods and cannon tearing to shreds the Wankan troops who had occupied the hill only twenty minutes before. A minute later, and their helicopter had reached the dropzone. The top of Hill 869. In a large semicircle around the dropzone, at least where smoke had not obscured visibility, Keyes could see the operators on the ground deploy from their Little Birds, clashing with the surprise Wankans, clearing the dropzone for them. A flare flew into the air and the helicopter began its quick descent, jolting downwards at an ever higher rate, bullets occasionally bouncing off the metal carapace.

"Go go go!"

Keyes almost threw himself out of the helicopter, relieved to be on terra firma once more. Around him, the battalion did the same, supported from the air and immediately diving for cover or opening fire. This was it. Battle had commenced. They were surrounded on all sides by the Wankans who had less than twenty minutes before earlier driven the Sylvans from this hill. Now, they were going to retake it. From the Sylvan side, tanks and vehicles and infantry were driving up, catching the Wankans in between in a wedge of the Twenty-Second Combat Aviation Brigade and the Seventeenth Armored Brigade, and from the other accessible side, hundreds upon hundreds of Wankan troops were already streaming up. The pilots, those who's aircraft had survived, took off and returned to base, determined to ferry the two other battalions of operators still at base to Hill 869.

Even through his night vision goggles, Keyes could barely see anything. Strobes of light flew by. Keyes slotted a Wankan only for him to get back up – or was it a different one? There were too many to count. And now they were coming harder and faster. The shouts of his comrades, the sound of battle, all went straight past his head. He kept firing. The Sylvan lines were thinning and the operation didn't seem to be going as planned: the relief was taking their time and all the while the Wankans were throwing themselves up the hill to retake their prize. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion and Keyes lost it all.

He opened his eyes after what felt like hours and couldn't feel anything. Lying on the floor, he looked down and noticed his legs were gone. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't hear anything. He could barely see. A pair of Wankans turned the corner and Keyes reached out for his rifle. He couldn't find it and only one of his arms seemed to be working anyway. He reached for the pistol instead, putting every effort, every strain of his bodily function into it, but could barely move his arm faster. Everything seemed distorted anyway. He couldn't feel anything. Sliding the gun from his chest holster, he gripped the charging handle with his mouth and pulled with all the energy he could. That familiar click was his reward, and the moment they turned to see him, his sidearm was raised. He slammed the trigger down again and again and again, and although he couldn't feel anything, the impact was apparent. He watched as one fell first, the other raising his rifle before a bullet blew apart his upper torso. His two foes fell to the ground and with his vision no longer blocked, Keyes watched as the Sylvan flag was raised to the sky in the distance, a flare exploding behind it. His eyes closed. He wouldn't feel anything anymore.

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
Central Sector, Saxony  
0300 hours | 17 March 2016**

Major General Daniel Lyons fixed his helmet and watched as men around him. Hill 869 had fallen and now it was time to leave. He had engaged with a few brief words with the commander of the Second Armored Regiment (Saxon) and the man was resolved to do his duty. The regimental commanders had all drawn straws as to who was staying behind to hold the Wankan advance while the rest of the formation withdrew. They had come up unlucky. Somebody needed to do it, Lyons supposed, as he watched more men jump on to trucks or tanks, or anything that moved.

"General," his 2IC, a Brigadier General, saluted. "The Land Rover is ready."

"Then we better go," Lyons replied, turning towards the car as the Brigadier eagerly jumped in. "I don't really want to leave," Lyons muttered, getting into the car. They would be leaving behind anything that couldn't quickly be packed up, and luckily not too many vehicles had been damaged. Some formations were already on the road; with orders to execute a fighting retreat back to El Camino Real. There they'd be met with some relief, at least in the form of the Thirteenth Armored Divisions, and could continue the fight.

The division was supposed to be protected in the air. From his command land rover, Lyons couldn't really see anything the sky. It was a strange thing. The skies were black and red and orange; clouds drifting from side to side, changing colors as the background of what they were crossing streamed through them. An incredible amount of munitions had poured over the state in the past four days. The full weight of the Wankan airforce had come down upon the, and, despite the best efforts of the COSAF-AF, had laid waste to the beautiful countryside and those inhabiting it. The funny thing was that the Commonwealth Armed Forces Air Forces were supposed to have complete air dominance – but Wankan partisan attacks on Saxon airbases had been incredibly effective. When the Sylvans could field their aircraft they were successful – but with little to no infrastructure to support them it was a losing battle. The Wankans were targeting everything behind the lines; infrastructure, civilian targets, military bases and depots. With deep-strike aircraft they ravaged the nation from end to end. It was going to be a long road to The Kings' Highway and the defense line set up around it.

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
Central Sector, Saxony  
0600 hours | 17 March 2016**

It wasn't as if they weren't taking losses, Lyons knew. According to General Reyes, they were dropping Wankan planes like flies and swatting their soldiers like ants. But they just kept coming, on land, and air. The intercom buzzed. _"All formations be advised: incoming enemy aircraft."_ Missiles flew and gunfire erupted, but it was all so sudden. There was the shudder of an explosion, and then another and suddenly Lyons was flown into the air and everything went black. He woke up what felt like hours after, but was really moments. There was smoke everywhere. The Land Rover was turned over. Trucks littered the road. The General checked he was alright and picked himself up, looking into the sky as trucks and vehicles went by. There was smoke and flame down the entire road and destroyed vehicles everywhere. A pair of Wankan planes flew over. He took his helmet from his head and threw it on the ground in rage.

Two dozen yards over, by the wreckage of a truck, a young Patriot-at-arms, Marten Freiburg, tried to free his friend from the wreckage. Blood and gore covered the floor and a beam of metal had gone straight through his unfortunate comrade. "Come on Ed," he panted, trying to ignore his friends screams as he tried in vain to lift hot metal. "We're going to get you the fuck out of here, you'll be okay, you'll be okay, huh!"

"I'm fucking dead bro," he spat some blood out through clenched teeth. "I'm fucking finished."

"Don't talk shit, Ed," Marten urged, "We'll get you the fuck out of here."

"I've had my last, Marty," he coughed. "No more, no more, it just hurts too much," he tried to shout for help.

"You are the one talking shit bro! Don't worry, we can get you out!" Marten began to panic.

"No... no," Ed gulped down blood. "Forget it, I am fucked." Ed turned his head as best he could and looked over at the rolling mountains covered in lush trees in the distance. The sun was beginning to rise against the backdrop of the land and cast its orange rays over a multitude of colors. Somewhere over the horizon, his father would shortly be waking up to tend the farm. "Don't you worry, bro, I am exactly where I am supposed to be," he coughed again and thick blood came out and made its mark on the road.

"Listen to me my man, you are not going to die!" Marten said, looking around for help. Everyone seemed to be busy helping others or jumping on to new transports.

"Marten, Marten," Ed said, a small smile cracking across his lips. "For god and country, am I right?" With that, the life had finished draining from him, and Edward Gregors passed into another world. Marten closed the eyes of his best friend and stood up, a consummate rage filling him. He took his friends dogtags and picked up his RBL, looking to flag down a transport. He would have his chance to kill Wankans another day. A truck stopped for him and a hand extended itself from the back.

Without looking, Marten took it and hauled himself onto the back of the truck. "Cheers bro," he muttered.

"Anytime," General Lyons said, with a small but morbid smile.

"Ah, uh-" Marten stuttered. "Thank you, Sir," he saluted. Lyons didn't respond. He just went back to looking out the back of the truck.

The truck took off, and Marten joined him in surveying the damage the airstrike had left behind. Wreckage was strewn for a few hundred yards and bodies lay intermixed with the ruins of light-topped vehicles that didn't have a chance to survive. Some of them were probably still alive, Marten thought, and then his mind shot straight back to his best friend, lying crushed under a truck. His dying words. He gritted his teeth. "Why are we running in our own land, General? Why don't we stand and fight!"

"We're more use to the war effort... alive." He responded bitterly. It wasn't a lie either. They could have stood and fought on the south side of Hill 869. As the last of the wreckage fell into the distance and the morning of the sixth day began to dawn, Lyons wondered how long this war would last.

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
Central Sector, Saxony  
0750 hours | 17 March 2016**

 _"Uniform Actual, this is One, we are engaging, over."_ The noise crackled over Lyons' headset in the early morning as his land rover headed west.

 _"Confirm One, this is Three, we have your six, will be engaging shortly. Over."_ A voice crackled back.

 _"Uniform Actual, this is Two. Enemy formation circling due west. Looks like they're trying to hook us. Permission to engage. Are we weapons clear? Over."_

 _"Two this is Actual, do not engage, repeat, do not engage. Hold your fire, let them shoot first. Over."_

 _"Actual, this is Two, repeat, requesting to engage... over!"_

 _"Uniform Actual this is One, we are engaging the enemy to our North. Armor supported by infantry. Over."_

 _"Uniform Actual this is Three, they're coming in on our flank! Over!"_

 _"Two this is Actual! You are weapons free! Engage, over!"_

 _"Three this is Two, weapons are hot and we are engaging. We have your flank. Over."_

 _"Uniform Actual this is One, they're everywhere!"_ Gunfire and explosions rang out behind this particular radio call. _"Permission to withdraw, over!"_

 _"This is Actual to_ all _formations, hold your ground, over!"_

 _"This is the Saxon Second Armored Regiment to any receivers, requesting immediate support at grid location R5A12B7, repeat, urgent assistance required at..."_ Lyons changed the radio channel. Several formations had volunteered to stay behind and delay the enemy advance, the Second Armored among them. But now, they too had now been overwhelmed.

 **156th Field Artillery Battalion  
Chemnitz, Northern Sector, Saxony  
0900 hours | 17 March 2016**

The twenty four rocket launchers commanded an excellent view of Chemnitz. From University Hill, which they had commandeered, they could see all the entire city and everything beyond. Colonel Cocks watched through his binoculars as streams of Wankan tanks drove past the burnt out hulls of a handful of Trojan I tanks. He lowered his binoculars and said a silent prayer to the men who had once fought in them. "Captain Morris, are we ready to launch?"

"Yes Sir!" the missiles were aimed at strategic locations behind the main Wankan advance; bridges, various airstrips and so on that could be denied to the enemy. Behind Cocks' back, another soldier whispered something to Morris. "Er, Sir, there's a Lieutenant Partridge to see you." Cocks turned around and acknowledged this, taking the route half way down the hill to where a convoy of trucks were parked. Some men chatted idly, both from the newly arrived formation and Cocks' own, and the Lieutenant stood at the head of his truck.

"Lieutenant Partridge?"

"Colonel, we have new munitions for you."

Cocks looked puzzled. "I have brought some new warheads for you Colonel. VX gas." Around them, men stopped speaking and just watched the pair.

"Well we aren't going to be using them," Cocks replied curtly. "Return your munitions to the depot and your men to the front."

"No!" Partridge shouted. "No, Colonel. In case you didn't notice, it's over!" Partridge walked up to him. "The Wankans are everywhere! They've already taken Hill 869, 'General' Reyes," he spat on the floor, "Has the Sylvans running southeastwards and there are millions of Wankans coming down on us! We can stop them with these weapons! They will be dead in their hundreds, if not thousands! They'll be sure to negotiate a settlement when they know we aren't too scared to use chems." Partridge cried with aplomb, as many men, some of his own and some of Cock's murmured in agreement. Cocks could hear Captain Morris drawing and cocking his pistol.

"Do you honestly think that? That they'll just give up if we fire a few chems? Do you want to see your country covered in gas? The fields we sew polluted? Entire villages rendered uninhabitable?"

"If you don't want to help us, I am going to relieve you of your command. Sergeant Thompson, disarm the Colonel please."

"Don't you take another fuckin' step, cunt!" Morris shouted, pointing his sidearm at the Sergeant, who stopped in his tracks. In a flash, Cocks' fist connected with Partridge's stomach and he drew his M1911 and pointed it towards his head.

"Have you gone fucking psycho son!" Cocks screamed, flicking the safety off. "Now get your men the hell out of here. I never want to see your sorry face again." Cocks and the few men he had brought down watched as Partridge left, muttering about cowards and quislings. As his convoy was about to take off, he shouted "I'll be back Colonel!" and made a motion of cutting his throat with this finger.

Cocks holstered his sidearm. "Captain, put a pair of fifty cals watching the road. Tell them to start shooting if he comes back. And... thanks for your help."

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
30 km N of El Camino Real, Saxony  
10:00 hours | 17 March 2016**

"Oh my God."

General Lyons removed his helmet.

"How on Earth..." his second in command muttered. Lyons and his aid stood on a large hillock, where his aid was showing him live feed from an RQ-5 Eagle Eye drone flying high above the fighting. There were thousands of them, the Wankans. At least two divisions, with tanks and vehicles and infantry. And they had the remnants of Seventh Airborne almost completely encircled, save a small pocket which would quickly be fixed.

"We have our orders..." his 2IC shrugged. "What can we do? This is war, isn't it?"

"No, Brigadier General. No." Lyons flagged down the truck next to him and slowly the remnants of his force came to a halt. Meanwhile the radio man in the land rover began relaying orders for the Seventh Airborne Division to come to a halt. "I am sick and tired of running. Of leaving people behind. Of heading south with our tails behind our backs while the invaders ravage this country. Of being bombed and shelled and chased out of Saxony! Damn the orders! Damn high command! This is it. We stand and fight. No more retreat. Tell the men to dig in and prepare for combat."

"But sir, our orders-" the Brigadier General protested.

"Are you a patriot or a coward?"

"Sir!" the Brigadier saluted. "A patriot, sir!"

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
25 km N of El Camino Real, Saxony  
11:00 hours | 17 March 2016**

It was still dark when the last Wankan assault faded away. Casualties were counted, magazines were reloaded, and short naps were taken. Lyons sent out another telegram; another demoralizing admission of defeat. They were being hit hard and there was no way around it. A few kilometers behind his lines, 259. Maintenance Battalion and 995. Supply Regiment, part of the division's attached Field Logistics Brigade held their vehicles in reserve. Their trucks and other vehicles were pointless now, Lyons realized, and he could use the manpower. Summoning Colonel Kelsey to his command quarters, the Colonel arrived shortly, looking only too happy that proper orders were about to be given to him.

"General," he saluted smartly.

"Colonel. We have now been completely surrounded by the enemy – move anyone that can fire a rifle to the frontline. I don't care if he is a cook and hasn't held anything but a spatula in his life, do you understand? I need you to take your men and attempt to force a breakout along our southern flank."

"Yes sir." Kelsey left the room Lyons sat down on a chair. It was getting to him; he had barely slept or eaten in days. He lay back and closed his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he could get some proper rest, and some proper food. He bolted upright in the chair. No. He wouldn't let the men under his command down. He wouldn't let his country down. He let out a sigh. This was it. For God, Country, and Freedom. Yes. God, Country, and Freedom. Lyons let the words ring out through his head. Previously, they had been just that; words, with attached meaning, for sure, but words nonetheless. Words that might come from the pulpit of a politician or preacher. Now they were very, very, real, and he concluded as the sound of artillery fire began, getting more and more real by the minute.

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
25 km N of El Camino Real, Saxony  
11:30 hours | 17 March 2016**

General Lyons' command bunker shook again. The enemy were recommencing their artillery bombardment, a surefire sign that they were preparing to attack again. The bunker was alive with the sound of radio communications and none of them were particularly pleasing. A young radio operator tapped Lyons on the shoulder. "General, its SACCAS on the line for you." Lyons lifted the receiver.

"This is Reyes. We need your men back here General, we need every man to defend the El Camino Real."

"With all due respect General, I can't possibly withdraw. The Wankans have us surrounded!."

"You must fall back! Withdraw your force back to the highway! That's an order!"

"You're breaking up – repeat!"

"Retreat!"

"Repeat please!"

"General, get your men back to the El Camino Real, do you hear me?"

"Repeat please!"

"General, if you are disobeying a direct-"

"You are breaking up, I can't hear you-" Major General Daniel Lyons hung up the receiver. "Get me Colonel Kelsey." The radio operator worked his magic and Lyons picked up the receiver again. "Colonel! This is Divisional Headquarters. We have sustained seventy-five percent casualties. Ammunition and other supplies are critical. Enemy artillery fire is intensifying and they refuse to withdraw. Get your men to the front, and force a breakout!"

"Sir, we are on our way! Kelsey out."

Lyons stood up and looked around. The room was full of radio operators diligently doing their duty. The Major General had already decided that he was staying put. Nothing would move the Seventh Division from their positions thirty kilometers north of the highway. He was an old man already. The same was not true of his troops. The men in this room; on the frontline, manning the few tanks and guns remaining, were all young. Some of them were still boys. What he was asking them to do was a great sacrifice... but it was their duty. And they would be remembered for all time.

"General! General!" one of these young soldiers had just entered the bunker, his uniform muddy and bloody and his face showing signs of weariness. "FO posts have spotted more Wankan troops, three or four brigade strength, AFVs and infantry."

Lyons slid a new magazine into his M1911 and cocked it.

 **Sylvan Seventh Airborne Division  
25 km N of El Camino Real, Saxony  
12:00 hours | 17 March 2016**

Lyons' men were running thin. The two divisions and four auxiliary regiments he'd started the war with were now probably no larger than a brigade. There were no tanks left. Most of the special weapons from the attached regiments were now nonoperational or had ran out of munitions. The trenches, foxholes, natural cover positions and bunkers were the last Seventh Airborne would ever build. Surely, he thought, as he looked out of the bunker's observation slit down onto the field below, they couldn't take many more attacks...

"Sir, FO's report... another attack incoming. Several division strength. They want to take us for good it seems, General." one of Lyons' subordinates said. "General... we're done for now, aren't we?"

"You've done your duty soldier." Lyons put his hand on the quaking boy's shoulder. "Men! Destroy this equipment and all classified information and report to your positions at the front. This is it. There's no retreat from here. We stand and fight... like Sylvans, like free men. I'll see you on the other side." Before he himself left, Lyons ordered a line open to Corbinsburg and Western Forces General Headquarters. Moments later, a familiar voice came over the radio.

"What the hell do you call this Daniel?"

"Reyes, it's over. The enemy is bearing down on us. I'm afraid this is going to be Seventh Airborne's last battle." There was no reply on the other side. "Sebastian, it's – it's been an honor to serve with you. You've been the best friend a man could ever ask for, and I know that Nicole thinks the same. If you get out of this alive, please... look after her. Don't let them win, Sebastian... just don't." Lyons hung up the receiver. This was it. Time for battle. He left the bunker, donning his helmet and tying the straps, while the men behind him prepared to destroy the radios, the codebooks, and all the things that they didn't want the Wankans getting a hold of.

Walking down the trench that led down the hill, Lyons was interrupted by a friendly voice. "General Lyons, sir!"

"Colonel Kelsey?"

"I've brought the battalion back, Sir. We were…unable to force a breakout. I'm sorry sir.."

In the distance, the low thunder of artillery fire began, throwing up plumes of smoke a few hundred meters ahead of them. "It is quite alright, Colonel. No more running. No, we are standing and fighting. This is it, Colonel. The last stand of Lyons' Legion."

Kelsey gulped. "Sir... I..."

"You don't need to explain, Colonel. We're all afraid here."

"I... I don't want to die."

Lyons said with empathy. You would have to be a madman to want to stay around here.

"I didn't say I was a coward, General." Kelsey said sternly, sensing the look on his CO's face and unslinging his RBL carbine. "What are our orders?"

Reyes smiled. "Take your men and relieve the men on that hill. They'll be glad of the relief."

"Yes Sir!"

"I'll see you on the other side, Colonel." The two exchanged salutes, and Lyons continued on his way down the trench. The next hour passed in a blur, but when the smoke had cleared, Lyons knew the game was up. He holstered his pistol and gave the order to surrender. Slowly, the men began to depart their trenches, piling their rifles up as Wankans came around to check them of weapons and herd them into groups. Taken in by a senior Wankan field officer who Lyons took an immediate dislike to, he waited around for fifteen minutes before a field car pulled up. A Wankan orderly opened the door, and out stepped three particularly well dressed men; their uniforms looking never sharper. It was as if they had even cleaned the mud from their boots before presenting themselves to their troops.

In contrast, they could barely recognize Lyons as a member of the general staff of any country, let alone Sylva. He was wearing a combat helmet like any other soldier might, and fatigues similar to them too; splattered with mud and blood and torn in some places, with webbing that could barely distinguish him from a private. Only his epaulettes and a sign on his helmet marked him out, but apart from that, he looked as if he had been in the thick of it; which he had. He hadn't even showered for a week. Meanwhile, one of the Wankan generals had received a manicure while his men were throwing themselves against the League's guns in the thousands.

"Where is General Lyons?" the man with the most impressive medals demanded in clipped English. Daniel offered his Colt .45 by the barrel and the man curiously took it. "You are Major General Lyons?" he said, looking to the other two generals and the Field Officer who barked something in German. "Oh my!" the General sniggered, exchanging amused glances with his subordinates. "We must get some field photographers!"

"You would have to hide your dead first." Lyons replied solemnly.

Not to be set back by this minor slight, the Wankan snorted. "So, General Lyons, how many men do you surrender to us today? Five thousand? Fifteen thousand?" A subordinate guffawed something in German and they all laughed.

"Less than twelve hundred." Lyons shrugged.

"You are lying." the Wankan General spluttered in shock. "Take this dog to a field photographer. For you, Danny-boy... the war is over."

"And for you, it's just begun, General!"


	11. No Man Left Behind

**Affenberg Internment Camp  
21km East of Affenberg | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Day 7 | 0100 hours | March 18th, 2016  
**

Private Karl Negar was standing guard over the courtyard, where two Sylvan prisoners-of-war were busy sweeping the floor. The sky was clear and the moon shone brightly on the dusty prison camp. He didn't mind his assignment. Coming from a poor family and growing up in the slums of Ulm, being in the military sure did have its benefits. What's more, he didn't actually have to fight- at least not yet- and getting paid to occasionally shout and kick around some Sylvan dog wasn't too bad at all. It was a cool time of the year, not too hot to make one sweat yet not too cold for one to have to put on thick layers of clothing. The non-stop urban chaos of Ulm, along with the stinking pollution and waste and gangs were hundreds of kilometers away. Here in the countryside, together with his new comrades, Karl Negar felt truly at home and at peace with the nature around him. The light swishing sound of the brooms filled him with pleasure; perhaps not so much that but the power that lay in his hands. Whenever he felt like it, he could give them a good beating, he could have them sent to solitary confinement (what was called the black hole) or let them starve by forbidding meals. Those inhuman dogs sure were paying for starting a war with the Wankan eagle.

Just as he was about to happily doze off, the air was suddenly filled with muffled thumping noises. What he didn't know was that in the past half an hour, the Sylvans had violently forced control of the air space above him. The strong network of radars and SAM defences at the Potsdam Airbase had been obliterated along with any air defense systems on the frontlines of the advancing First Army.

The intruders hardly bothered with staying quiet. They hit hard, and they hit fast. Airborne snipers had already eliminated all the guards on the perimeter that they could lay their sights on. Choppers black as the night came to a hovering halt above the courtyard, prison and administration building. Soldiers rapidly dropped from the choppers, landing with deft and rhythmic _thumps_ on the surface. Karl Negar threw himself to the ground as bullets began pinging around him and alarms started blaring. He raised his rifle and began firing wildly, the loud shots the first of few bullets which exited Wankan rifles. Shouts in english, which Negar couldn't comprehend, echoed around. If he did understand, he would have learned that the Sylvans had quickly taken control. The Wankan guards stood little chance with most of them dying in or near their beds. Negar himself had been thrown to the ground by a rifle round to his stomach and was bleeding profusely. As he coughed out blood, he saw that his uniform was drenched red. Two looming figures appeared above him, the two POWs he just recently had sweep the courtyard clean. _This wouldn't end well_ he thought, and he was right. For the two Sylvans had suffered enough, and did not waste their chance. Until they were ordered by the Sylvan commandoes to move out of the camp, he was treated worse than Islamic militants at Guantanamo Bay. Negar's short life was ended with an unceremonial bullet to the head.

The takeover of the camp lasted barely eight minutes. The POWs were quickly brought to the nearby designated landing strip, where a specially modified Hercules was waiting with a second one approaching quickly. But there was a problem. More prisoners had been taken in the days since the Admiral sent the report over, and an extra plane was needed to fit them all. It was on its way, but would take another half an hour to arrive. Unfortunately, enough time for the Wankan 312th Füsiliers to respond. The two Sylvan special forces companies, reinforced by some Saxon prisoners of war, prepared to meet the enemy as they waited the arrival of the final Hercules. The commandoes' choppers were hidden away, with the pilots ready to take off on short notice.

But the fight never came, no enemy showed up in the next half an hour. The officers had been killed first and with telephone lines cut by the DIKK, they weren't able to alert the troops just around two dozen kilometers away. And so the elite soldiers waited in a somewhat unnerved manner, not believing their luck but still maintaining calm. In Affenberg, regular army soldiers chilled in the barracks or were mostly fast asleep, oblivious to the enemy presence just barely twenty minutes away. Still, The mission wasn't over yet.

Except that it practically was. Without any further incident, the aircraft and choppers shot into the night sky into the protective umbrella of the League air forces. Left behind were some sixty mangled and dead bodies in an abandoned internment camp, ready to be discovered by the Wankan army whenever they decided to check on it.

 **Second Army | Central Sector  
Hill 869 | Saxony  
Day 7 | 1500 hours | March 18th, 2016  
**

The south bank of the Weser looked like a scene from an apocalyptical movie, the surface resembling that of the moon. Bits of hot metal still lay around, and the occasional undetonated mine took the life away from the unlucky soldier. The ground, dug up not only by trenches and foxholes but also by the thousands of artillery shell impacts, was still muddy from the rain and the tired Captain Roland Katsnaroff struggled as he walked toward the river. The stench of decaying bodies and burnt metal was overpowering, and he did his best to ensure that he didn't throw up. Only today did the army start to clean up the hellish mess it had made together with the SDF and COSAF forces. At least, with so much natural, organic fertilizer in the form of human bodies, crops could one day grow well in these areas again, the tank commander thought.

A Wankan _Bergepanzer_ meanwhile rolled past him, towing along a damaged Gepard. That might as well have been Katsnaroff's latest destroyed tank. He really didn't know how he was still alive. But he wasn't about to complain. He arrived at a temporary prisoner-holding compound, where the remnants of the famed 7th Airborne Division was being held. An argument had broken out at the gates between two uniformed Wankan officers. One of them, he recognized, was his regiment commander. Katsnaroff could guess what the ruckus was about. He'd discussed it personally with his superiors the day before.

" _…verdammt nochmal_ , I repeat, we don't have the time nor space to take care of _your_ insignificant business! See those trucks there?" the Füsiliers commander, a Colonel, pointed towards endless columns driving slowly toward the Weser bridges. "I will organize their transportation when the time is right, when we can do so without killing off our combat ability!"

"Bringing the prisoners to safety is of utmost importance to us." responded the other angrily, also a Colonel- a reservist. "See these orders here? We need to have this scum sorted quickly and sent to prepared camps where they can be put to good use. Any interruption- hello?" the Colonel asked surprised, as Katsnaroff strode up to him.

Without breaking stride, the towering Captain grabbed the Colonels spick-and-span uniform by the collar and hoisted him upward, slamming him violently against the gates. Behind him, the Sylvan POWs looked up in surprise. Katsnaroff's regiment commander stood back as he tried to suppress an amused smile.

"Listen up, you criminal reserve piece-of-shit," Katsnaroff growled in a quiet, threatening voice, "we know what you're doing to prisoners of war. You like holding slaves, do you? Beating up defenseless people, like you used to do in the streets of Kronstadt? Well, that's your business. But these soldiers here are possibly amongst the best in the world. Their weakest is still better than you'll ever be, by far. Lowly assholes like you belong in our prisons, not the army."

He slapped the reservist colonel. "And don't even try court-martialling me, we'll ensure that you'd get your ass handed back to you. Now go back and don't bother coming again. We will sort it out ourselves. Maybe if you land on the front lines, you'll grow up."

The colonel's face contorted with rage, but that subsided quickly as he realized that this had little point. He could see the other Colonel smirking, and with the military already lacking good officers, he knew better than to raise a fuss. The reservist Colonel shrugged and walked away.

"You didn't have to slap him, but that's what he deserves. Actually, the least he deserves. Well, thank-you Captain, for sparing me that confrontation. As agreed, I'll look to have them sent to more of a proper human being. I have contacts in Wanka, I already have some ideas as to who'll take them in and not work them to death."

Katsnaroff saluted and continued on. His destination was a field hospital of the 15th Füsiliers, where his sister had landed in after being shot-up pretty badly. At least she was alive- for now- he'd heard. The incoming traffic was especially heavy. There would be a day or two of respite before the offensive would resume. Truckloads of artillery shells, followed by self-propelled guns and towed howitzers were being brought up to Hill 869. From that position, they could accurately shell League lines all along the Central Sector. Tanks, infantry fighting vehicles with Füsiliers inside, most from the 5th Panzer-Division, rolled toward the front. The salient that had developed around Cottbus was to be eliminated, and the General Staff was throwing the weight of three Panzer divisions, the 4th, 5th and 6th, in an effort to surround the League troops in the area. The offensive was scheduled for the 20th of March, whereby up to then all necessary troops, material and supplies should have reached the frontlines. The offensive was to be coupled with a massive artillery bombardment along League lines potecting the El Camino Royal highway to pin them in place.

The Captain wondered how the the hundreds of doctors and nurses could stand the smell. Probably got used to it by now. It was so much more worse here in the hospital than outside, of course. He was greeted by a scene of pure chaos. Alarmed and shouting doctors hurried around, their white uniforms stained with blood. The screams of wounded soldiers, a mix of English and German (for here, the captured Sylvans were not discriminated against), were heard above all. A seemingly constant stream of dead, mangled bodies were rolled out of the door. His respect for the medical corps had always trumped all other roles, and his belief was reinforced even further with his visit to the hospital. It was definitely worse here than on the front.

 **Fourth Army | Southern Sector  
Upper Seine Valley | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Day 7 | 1600 hours | March 18th, 2016  
**

" _Verdammte, verfluchte Scheisse_!" swore Generaloberst Albert Zicher loudly. The commander of the newly formed Wankan Fourth Army could only watch as the situation deteriorated even further. He'd been given command of two frankly useless divisions manned by drunkards, one who somehow managed to run out of ammunition several hours into a fight and one mechanized division- his former command. Having diluted the 28th Mountain Divisions fighting strength to compensate the losses suffered by the 29th Division, he'd quickly got them into building temporary fortifications along the western edge of the still mountainous Cloysteric Highlands. The mountain divisions were designated as light divisions and were equipped as such and he knew that their combat effectiveness would be significantly reduced if faced in open combat in the Upper Seine Valley. The Sylvans were supposed to be stopped in the Highlands.

But somehow, some genius on the Sylvan side managed to bypass all his defenses on the main road and pile tanks in a risky but eventually successful maneuver through tight passes north of the main Highlands Mountain Pass. Thinking that they wouldn't risk advancing through that area, as simple, easily-laid ambushes would result in casualties the Sylvans couldn't accept, he concentrated his defenses further south. He was wrong. The Sylvans faked an attack on the Highlands Pass, eliminated recon units in the northern flanks and simply drove unopposed into the Upper Seine Valley.

And as such the situation had developed as Zicher had feared. In desperation, arriving panzer and Füsiliers were immediately thrown in a disorganized fashion at the rampaging Sylvan 29th Armored Cavalry Regiment which tore apart every unit in its way, soon seizing the main road and rail supply route. Ordering a quick withdrawal, the 28th and 29th Mountain Divisions proceeded to dig in around the small town of Wallis. But soon he had to recognize that his situation had become extremely difficult. In heavy fighting throughout the night, the Sylvan 32nd Infantry Brigade Combat Team had managed to reach the Seine river to his south.

To complicate the situation even further, it seemed as though, while he couldn't confirm it because the reports were so inaccurate and varying, the Septentrion League had managed to smuggle large units of special forces into the Wankan rear. The bridges along the Seine river behind the Fourth Army were quickly blown up by bizarrely accurate air strikes. Supplies running toward the Fourth Army never arrived at their destination.

Added to that was the failure of the 30th Mountain Division to prevent a Sylvan crossing of the Seine river. The division fought well at first, it seemed, but planned ammunition resupplies somehow failed to arrive at Bad Eisenach. Surviving logistics troops told of groups of lightly armed enemy troops hunkered down along the roads, destroying supply columns, even protected ones, one by one. And when help could be summoned in the form of attack and transport choppers, the enemy soldiers vanished like ghosts into the forests and mountains. Bad Eisenach was given up without a fight on the 19th of March and the 30th Mountain began a fighting retreat northwards along the A53 highway. He was worried, however. The enemy special warfare operators (if that was the case) sure knew how to conduct their business. They might've even learnt it from Wankan tactics in the Sellenland. The problem was that the Wankan military knew well how to organize such campaigns, but was hopeless at combating it despite decades of experience fighting a variety of insurgent groups.

The 30th formed the defense of his southern flank. Were they forced to retreat north, the majority of the Fourth Army east of the Seine river would be properly trapped, with a river and Sylvan troops sealing off their rear. It was incredible. The Fourth Army was practically encircled now, having lost every single fight up to this point despite outnumbering the enemy, _and_ fighting a defensive war.

 **20th March**

The lines were still holding steady, with the enemy consolidating their positions. It made sense for the Sylvans, who as the besiegers were outnumbered by the besieged. The airspace above them was still being contested, indeed above the entire theatre it was being contested, but unlike in Saxony here in the south the Wankers lacked the infrastructure, while the League did not. It kept Zicher from launching breakout attacks with help of his superior numbers (and armored units of the 23rd Füsiliers) to recapture the strategically important Highlands Pass. Wallis did have significant ammunition, fuel and other basic supply stocks, but Zicher knew that they would run out within days if forced to fight. His only hope was the 22nd and 24th Füsiliers, who were approaching from the west. Their firepower was urgently needed, and perhaps with the addition of over 30,000 troops Zicher could turn the tide of the war in this front. But it did depend on them being able to cross the Seine without opposition. He had little idea whether the Sylvans had already thought of fortifying that area; if they did, the outcome of this battle would look less rosy.

 **The Home Front  
Baiern | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Day 9 | 1800 hours | March 20th, 2016  
**

Dear Erika and Lena,  
My sincere apologies for not writing for so long. I'm writing this letter from a field hospital south of the Weser. I've been on the frontlines in the midst of fighting for the past week, and now I'm completely mentally and physically exhausted. My dear sister, Hanna, has been badly hit in the stomach, but she's fine and recovering. She'll be joining you soon, if all goes well.

The battalion has been moved into the reserves, so I won't be seeing any action for a while. The 14th Füsiliers has been nearly completely obliterated in the brutal fighting, it now hardly has any combat maneuver units left. Don't listen to what the newspapers are saying. I've never seen such intense combat in my lifetime, and I thought the Sellenland was bad. There, we faced Aemen conscripts who had little motivation to fight for that small patch of land. Here we faced the best of the best, regular, experienced and all in all the most elite combat unit. The Sylvan 7th Airborne managed to hold off nearly single handedly the weight of practically five Wankan divisions for _an entire week_. Forget the media jubilation. When they surrendered, at most barely a thousand were left. You could say they literally fought to the last man.

That isn't to say the war is going badly. With rapid progress from the Third Army, we've formed a salient which, with any luck, we will capture in the next days. We call it the Cottbus Salient. It's an important area. If we capture it, our logistical situation will be greatly improved with help from road and rail running through Cottbus. The Sylvans have dug in well along the main highway, but with Cottbus in our hands we can easily concentrate our forces and break their line.

The determination of the Sylvan soldiers impresses me. Unlike the Saxons, they fight as if this was their own soil and their family's livelihoods depended on it. But they're outnumbered, our Air Force is keeping theirs in check and with the way things are looking Saxony will soon be freed. How are you two? I'm pushing to get a hinterland assignment, maybe training some of those new recruits that are flooding in. It'd be much easier for us to meet. I promise that I'll do my best to stay safe and sound.

Many loving greetings from your Frontsoldier,

Roland

A tear rolled down Erika Katsnaroff's face as she held the precious letter in her trembling hands. She hadn't heard from her tank commander for nearly a week, and no message had arrived through from other relatives in the army. Waiting without any knowledge of whether the one man who meant the world to her, indeed, the father of her child, was a slow, insidious killer. Especially when he was a soldier on the bloodiest front in the entire war. Lena, perched on her lap, meanwhile was carefully deciphering her fathers' letter. Her fingers traced along the paper, which was stained with several drops of blood.

 _"… schreibe die…sen Brief in… einem… Feldla- Feldlaza… Mama?"_ she looked up at her mother, surprised. "Why are you crying?"

Erika just stared at her daughter, kissing her lightly on the forehead. The air around her suddenly felt warm and comforting, the cold spring winter suddenly nonexistent. She could once again make out the pleasant sound of singing birds and the children playing outside. The war seemed so far away…

And to any casual observer, visitor or tourist, the war would really have seemed far away, particularly on the densely populated West Coast. League aircraft dared not to venture that far into Wankan territory, not that there was any point in doing so. Except for the ubiquitous propaganda, military parades and other show-of-force demonstrations, life seemed superficially normal. Despite the heavy militarization, loans from Achesia and Erquin ensured that public life was generally unaffected by the war, and the economy stayed afloat. The term "total war" was often implied by Sonneborn but not taken seriously, as the nation was far from turning to such desperate measures. The idea of rationing was dropped. Businesses remained unaffected and weren't forced to mass-produce weapons or uniforms (not even the arms industry was particularly busy, Wanka had massive equipment stores- just not the personnel to man them). But the life-as-usual impression that was seen was merely an illusion.

Already over five thousand Wankan soldiers, in addition to another thousand civilians, had died so far. With every soldier that had to be buried, the mood got ever darker. The numbers weren't staggering, but news traveled quickly and news of the deaths of relatives and friends serving spread like wildfire. Not to mention the number of wounded, which was over double the amount of fallen. They talked about the gruesome conditions on the front, and, depending on who was talking, the necessity- the truth- of the war. Nevertheless, through this, the once fractioned Wankan society mostly found itself united as one against the common, historical enemy. Orwell wasn't wrong- War is Peace.

Sonneborn and his government made good use of these fears and distractions from what he was doing behind the scenes. Critics of his regime, Meinhof supporters, journalists, disgraced officials, pacifists- suddenly found themselves in very difficult conditions. The Gepo was out hunting like never before, albeit silently. As the war progressed, Sonneborn slowly but surely planted himself as the undisputed dictator of Wanka, and with a rising cult of personality not unlike that of Meinhof, he was turning the country into a totalitarian state.

Yet the planned "reintegration of Saxony" policy wasn't going well. Half a century apart from their motherland resulted in a grossly different society with disparate cultures and norms between Saxons (the ethnic Wankers, as ethnic Sylvans were shoved into stinking rubbish ghettos) and Wankers, coupled with insecurities sparked with the massive influx resulted in high tensions between the two ethnic kins. Violence was not uncommon and voices demanding the expulsion of Saxons "back to their country" or any other place grew in number. It seemed as though Wankers didn't want to have Saxony, and the Saxons didn't want to be part of Wanka. Not a comforting thought for Sonneborn and his "Heim ins Reich" (all german speakers in one realm) goal.

 **First Army | Northern Sector  
50km northwest of Chemnitz | Saxony  
Day 10 | 1000 hours | March 21st, 2016**

The air inside and outside the tank was scorching with heat which was certainly not only caused by the sun which angrily stared down the humans who were slaughtering each other. Yet another attack had failed. The Wankers weren't learning. When some kind of weak point was detected, an armored breakthrough was attempted but more often than not it was a carefully laid trap. As in this case. First Lieutenant Darmietzel only realized too late that their flanks had been wiped out, the attacking panzer spearhead soon chopped off from its support. Once again, the force was isolated, and now Sylvan-made Trojan tanks charged out from all directions.

The fighting distance closed rapidly. From their Schützenpanzer infantry fighting vehicles, Wankan Füsiliers clambered out as Saxon tanks mixed with Wankan ones. Darmietzel watched as a young private loaded his Panzerfaust and fired it at a Trojan-II. It missed, instead blowing up a friendly Gepard just several meters away. Elsewhere, a Sergeant disappeared with a sickening crunch under the tracks of a marauding Saxon tank.

 _"Alle Panzereinheiten, zurückziehen!"_ ("All armored units, fall back!") the desperate voice of the company commander screamed over the radio. More Trojans were streaming over the hill at the Wankan force. Darmietzel's Gepard, its turret perpendicular to the hull, fired off another round, bringing an enemy command tank to a skidding halt. The other two of his platoon each fired too, one missing and the other hitting its mark.

 _"Feindlicher Panzer, zehn Uhr. Feuer!"_ the 125mm cannon roared, another armor piercing round digging into Sylvan steel. The enemy responded in kind, with shells striking both other tanks in his platoon. The Lieutenant watched anxiously for survivors to climb out. None did. The situation was desperate, where were the reinforcements? Mud splattered the side of the grey Wankan monster, a round that could easily have killed him.

In the distance, he finally saw them. Firing angrily on the move at the Saxon tanks, who quickly withdrew in face of the massive firepower arrayed against them. But it did not get rid of the fact that once again, the Wankan advance had grinded to a halt. Seemingly every meter of Saxon land had to be fought over, and with League aircraft persistently striking at the First Army's supplies, moving forward seemed to be the exception. With huge population centers in Chemnitz, Leipzig and the capital, Dresden, it made sense for the League to ensure the defences stayed upright around these areas, but the Wankan General Staff had no interest in fighting prolonged urban battles. Instead, individual units were temporarily sent to the Second Army in the Central Sector to make up for the losses there, thus diluting the combat strength of the First Army. And then the General Staff still demanded that they make progress into Chemnitz itself. Well, good luck to us, Darmietzel said under his breath.

 **Erquin-Sylvan Border  
Day 11 | 0100 hours | March 22nd, 2016  
**

The Koppa squad was all but invisible, for now, and the darkness helped. They had waited for two hours already, but the Captain knew that his men could easily wait for a whole day while hardly moving a muscle. It was all about the timing. He was aware of the numerous creepy crawlies which inhabited this forested place and he hoped that his team would be left alone. If all went well, they needn't have to disturb their homes.

In the distance, they could make out the sound of another military patrol. Would this come the way they wanted it to come? Turns out it did. Soldiers on foot, accompanied by an armored car of some sort. The troops on both sides of the border remained on high alert due to the war in Saxony, and the fact that Erquin was a member of the NAZI.

 _"Adler Zwo, Tiger_ , we have spotted an Equinian patrol…" the Captain rattled off the coordinates and a Koppa lieutenant several hundred meters away, receiving the orders, had his own team prepare their mortar. It was a standard Sylvan M2 mortar, and it was to be fired from near a Sylvan military checkpoint. Shooting with rifles was all well and good, but it didn't have the punch like a mortar round did. That would _have_ to provoke some response.

The first round fell several meters ahead of the convoy, and had its desired effect. One Erquinian private was sent flying, although it didn't look as if he was injured. The second exploded several seconds later, and this time was accompanied by bullets by the Captain and his team armed with Sylvan SAR-15s. Wanka and Erquin were allies, and it would make sense for the Koppa soldiers to intentionally miss, but blood would provoke the greatest and angriest response. And that was what they were aiming to do. The Captain himself brought down a surprised Erquinian soldier down with a bullet to the head, while another fell with several shots to his chest. The others took cover behind the armored car, returning fire in the general direction it was coming from. The mortar team had stopped firing, packed up and quickly slipped away as alarmed Sylvan troops ran to check on the disturbance. As expected, the bullets that flew into the Sylvans direction weren't few, who immediately assumed that they were being targeted and returned fire.

As both sides called in reinforcements and reported that they were under attack from across the border, the Wankan Koppa operatives quietly exited the scene.

 **Schleswig | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Day 11 | 1900 hours | March 22nd, 2016  
**

Every few days Admiral Kanaris and his band of determined plotters moved their commanding headquarters, often switching between the large homes of his more well-off contacts. Several more important figures from Meinhof's regime had been released in daring rescue attempts and while the Geheimpolizei had arrested dozens in connection with the DIKKs activities nobody who actually knew anything had been captured. Thus, the organization continued to grow in the shadows, its agents everywhere, spreading rumors (whether false or true) about the war, exaggerated claims of imprisonment and torture of dissenters by the government and just generally launched a campaign to discredit the Sonneborn administration.

But all that was useless if what he thought had happened was not true. He could attempt it himself, but risked lack of public support and as such the likely failure of the mission. While several ministers under his protection were known public figures, nobody really had the soft power- the trust of the masses- to bring things back to the status quo. The lack of news and responses to the press during inquiries as to what had happened to this person made Kanaris pretty confident in his deduction. But he had to be sure.

He had been trying to find out all along. As with every operation, however, there had to be a balance. If his agents were too curious, it would blow their cover. It seemed as though the Gepo had finally gotten something right. This vital piece of information had eluded Kanaris for weeks, amazingly.

The ceaseles clicking by his officers in the room unnerved him. He was nervous, that was for sure. Loosening the buttons on his shirt, he made a few restless circles around the room while checking his watch. The one woman in a position to discover this fact would be reporting in in two minutes. Several officers turned to look in surprise at the usually calm and composed Admiral.

The message arrived, and one of the men on the computers quickly decrypted it. He waved at the Admiral once he was done. The latter roughly shoved the officer away as his eyes took in the characters on the screen. The message consisted of four words.

 _Sie ist am Leben._ She is alive.


	12. Center of Gravity

**First Recon Battalion  
A53 Highway, Upper Seine Valley  
1200 hours | 21 March 2016**

 _"FUEGO!"_

The cliffside erupted in gunfire as the Rangers of the First Recon unleashed hell upon the forward vanguard of the Thirtieth Mountain Division. Explosions racked the armored column from front to back, as gunfire pinged off armor and rock. Snipers, armed with .50 caliber anti-material rifles, literally disintegrated soft targets into bundles of flesh and blood. The few Javelin missiles that the Sylvans had were expended first, with devastating effect to the lead squadron of tanks.

Captain Samantha Palmer smiled viciously as she saw the lead vehicles of the Wankan column explode from coordinated fire. Smoke poured out of the hatches of the lead armored vehicles, their occupants spilling out, seeking refuge from the flames inside their tanks and APCs. Once outside, however, they found themselves fighting a new kind of fire – in the form of 7.67 mm armor piercing ammunition. The Rangers, which dominated both cliffsides overlooking the highway, had a perfect killbox. There was no where to hide for the Wankan soldiers attempting to fight back. They focused their fire on the Rangers' machine gun nests, which were relatively hard to conceal because of the oldest rule of warfare – that tracers work both ways.

But there were only twenty Rangers defending this pass. Soon, the Wankans found that they not only outnumbered, but outgunned their ambushers. Though much destruction had been caused in the first few minutes of the attack, the Sylvans' luck was not to last.

105 mm self-propelled artillery vehicles began unleashing vicious volumes of fire along the hills. Antipersonnel artillery slammed into the cliffs, forcing the Rangers to retreat. However the lack of proper spotters and inadequate amount of targeting information had grave consequences for the Wankan soldiers calling in the artillery. Shells peppered the highway itself, and thus, the men and women on it, causing more casualties to the Wankan armored column than the initial ambush itself had done. However, the artillery had forced the Rangers to fall back from their initial position, and reinforce the second line of defense less than a mile back. This process would be repeated throughout the entire stretch of highway – the Rangers would fight until the Wankans could muster accurate fire support and then retreat to the next position, which would become exponentially stronger due to the influx of forces.

The truth was the First Recon didn't need to stop the Wankans at all – they only needed to slow them down. Because as the Thirtieth Mountain was slowed almost to a halt, the two Sylvan brigades in close pursuit found themselves in direct contact with the Thirtieth Mountain Division's rear guard contingent, which was quickly overwhelmed. The impromptu battle of two Sylvan brigades and an already battered Wankan division was foreseeable – caught between a rock and a hard place, the division was forced to make a one-hundred eighty degree turn to face the new threat.

In the air, three Sylavn Sif-21 E joint strike fighters screamed overhead. Each was armed with two thousand-pound Joint Standoff Weapons, or JSOWs. These weapons were targeted at one mile intervals along the roughly rhombular shape the Thirtieeth Mountain Division had taken. Once launched, they split into grenade sized bomblets, each with ten kilograms of high-explosive. When they hit the ground, ears rang for miles. A massive fireball erupted where the Thirtieth Mountain Division had once been, the earth shaking as the explosions compounded on one another.

Though the airstrike seemed all-powerful, it did not simply wipe out the Wankans as a fighting force. Tanks and many armored vehicles were largely unaffected by the bomblets, as were any Wankan soldiers in entrenchments. However, any exposed infantry and, more importantly, the large tent holding the entire divisional staff, were obliterated in an instant.

By 1500 hours the Wankan Thirtieth Division had ceased to exist as a cohesive fighting force. Many of the soldiers escaped into the nearby hills, abandoning their stocks and vehicles and fleeing in all directions. The Sylvans wouldn't waste the time trying to hunt them down – with the Thirtieth Division wiped out, the encirclement of Wallis had been completed.

 **The Acropolis  
Chandler, Commonwealth of Sylva  
1700 hours | 21 March 2016**

"General Reyes," First Minister De La Calle said, shaking hands with the commander, though in not a friendly fashion. Both men looked many years past their age – the last few weeks had taken a toll on them, as it had many in Sylva. All of the strategists of the world had thought the successful invasion of Saxony by Wanka impossible. But within a week they had pushed the Sylvans into a corner, and were less than twenty four hours away from sealing the deal. And too many Sylva, including the First Minister, this seemed to be the General's fault. "How could this have happened, Sebastian?"

"The Wankan Integrated Air Defense System has been more effective than we thought in negating our air power. We have, however, almost completely wiped out the _Volksrepublik_ air forces in theater. In a sense, this has regressed into a battle on the ground, where the Wankans have the advantage in numbers."

"Don't butter it up for me, Reyes," De La Calle said. "They're kicking our ass. I have reports -" he threw a stack of papers labeled CLASSIFIED on the table, "of what's really happening out there. You let the Saxons at Zwickau be slaughtered – you abandoned nearly half the Northern Front, and refused to try and break out the Seventh Airborne Division when they were encircled. General Lyons was captured, goddmanit! And your telling me their was nothing you could do?"

"Mr. First Minister-"

"Don't interrupt me, you little cunt!" De La Calle cursed. "You are being relieved of your command as SACCAS. I, and the Sylvan and Saxon people, have lost faith in your ability to successfully defend this nation. You have demoted to a three star, and will no longer take part of this campaign."

Reyes looked at the First Minister with eyes that shot daggers. "Then you can accept my resignation from the Commonwealth Armed Forces," he said. "History will show what was done here. It will tell the next generations that the First Minister of Sylva fired the _only capable commander_ that his country had! That it was _Stephen De La Calle,_ First Minister of Sylva, that led his country to defeat in the Saxon War! Not me, Stephen, _you!_ "

"I'll take my chances with history," De La Calle said. "In the meantime, you can get your affairs in order. I expect your resignation from the military in my hands by tomorrow afternoon."

Reyes stormed out of the building, cursing audibly. De La Calle turned to the Defense Committee Chairman, Miguel Valencia. Valencia had technical authority over the military as its civilian commander. He would go about appointing a new SACCAS, and knew exactly whom. "Mr. De La Calle," he said. "What would you think of Major General Clarke?"

"Clarke? The Southern Front commander?"

"Yes. He's got the Wankans literally on the run – he routed the Thirtieth Mountain Division earlier today, and encircled what was left of the Fourth Army in Wallis."

Valencia thought for a moment. "Consider it done."

 **General Clarke's Headquarters  
Upper Seine Valley, Volksrepublik Wanka  
1930 hours | 21 March 2016**

"Knowing the Wankans, they will want to attack here," Brg. General Ibanez said, pointing to what had come to be known as the Cottbus Salient. "Fifteen thousand Sylvan and Saxon defenders are currently under pressure from two armies of the Wankan armed forces. The forces inside, whatever they might have once been, had been loosely absorbed into the Saxon Ninth Armored Regiment. If the Wankan Second and Third Armies pinch the salient here, just north of the El Camino Real, the Ninth Regiment would be effectively encircled. I recommend that we move the First Cavalry Division into the salient's weak spots along the Spur to prevent the encirclement."

"In the north, the Wankans are pressing on Chemnitz again. We suspect they are trying to break the cities flanks and surround it, much like they did at Zwickau. The attack is estimated at three divisions' strength."

Clarke stood and pointed to the collection of electronic signatures labeled as the First Cavalry Division. "In launching assaults the Wankans have left two of their flanks exposed. When the Fourth and Sixth Panzer Divisions attack the salient, they leave only the Fifteenth and Thirteenth Fusilier Divisions to defend Hill 869 and their flank in the central sector. Likewise in the north, the three divisions now pressing on Chemnitz have only the Twelfth Fusiliers to defend their southwestern flank. If we exploit this, we can can turn the tide of this war in one fell swoop."

"What are you proposing?"

"The Seventeenth Brigade will be stationed just south of the salient while the First Cavalry will be positioned inside of it. When the Wankans attack the First Cav, we will execute a fighting retreat to behind the El Camino Real with the First. The Wankans will push forward, and complete the encirclement, at which point the Seventeenth Brigade will hammer them from the southeast and the Ninth Armored from the northwest. In short, gentlemen, we will encircle their encirclement.

"Meanwhile, the Fifteenth and Twenty First Armored Brigades will push directly towards Hill 869 and Thirteenth Fusilier Division. This effort will be made in conjunction with the Fourth Infantry Division, which will move to finally take Wallis from the hands of the Wankans. With so many counterattacks on so many fronts, the Wankans will have their hands tied when it comes to the distribution of resources and, more importantly, of air support. The bulk of our air forces will be focused on hitting the enemy's rear area instead of providing air support. Any Wankan bridge spanning the Weser will be a priority-one target."

"I'm giving tactical command of the southern front to Brg. General Sanchez of the Twenty-Third Brigade. Sanchez, I want you to do everything in your power to take Wallis and prevent the Wankans from reinforcing it. Alvarez will retain control of the First Cavalry, while I will be in personal command of our two armored brigades attacking Hill 869."

Glances were exchanged around the table. Usually a commander consulted with his lieutenants about strategies – however, Clarke simply said what was going to be done. "Well, what are you standing around for? Get your formations into position!"

 **Twenty Ninth Armored Cavalry Regiment  
75 kilometers E of Weisbaden, Volksrepublik Wanka  
0400 hours | 21 March 2016**

The early morning hours of 20 March was met with the coughing of engines as the vanguard squadrons of the Twenty-Ninth ACR rolled down the highway towards Weisbaden. The two brigades previously deployed at Bad Eisenach had taken the regiment's place in the encirclement of Wallis, allowing the regiment to continue what it did best – destroying enemy army formations. The Wankans were rushing the essence of two divisions from Hessen towards Wallis, where the Twenty Eight division and hundreds of Wankan militia were held up. If the Twenty Ninth could force them back, the destruction of the Fourth Army would be complete. Then, the rest of the Fourth Infantry could continue its rampage through eastern Wanka.

 **Erus, Kingdom of Aemen  
2100 hours | 24 March 2016**

Princess Mariana de Sylvania lay naked, curled around her lover. Even with the fire crackling across the room it failed to relieve the Aemen winter's stark chill, which penetrated even the great palace walls behind where she was staying. She lay with the Heir Apparent of the Aemen crown instead, the heat from their excerptions minutes before slowly fading away.

"Something's wrong, Alexander," Mariana said, in a light, gentle tone. "There is something troubling you, I can feel it."

He rolled Mariana off of him and faced her, side by side. She brought up the blankets to cover and warm herself. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He repeated this process once more between sighing and collapsing with a loud sigh.

"Tell me, Alexander," she said. "Whats on your mind?"

"Its my brother," he confessed. "And my father. Both of them…" He tried for a moment to constrain it, then failed. "Ivan is preparing to invade Wanka, Saxony, and the Sellenland. He and my father have agreed to a plan that would make Ivan the duke of Saxony, to be made in conjunction with armed intervention into the current conflict. He may go so far as to try and reconquer the Sellenland."

Mariana propped herself up on her elbow. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Unfortunately no. They are even willing to bring conflict with Sylva if that is necessary. You have to understand – after what happened in the Sellenland my father feels he has been personally insulted. He looks at Aemen on the map and is envious of what was – when _we_ were the undisputed champions of the Crimson Sea, when we were the bane of the Holy Sylvannian Empire. He wants to return to that – the idea of empire."

"And your…agreeing to this?"

"My hands are tied, Mariana. On one hand if I refuse I will undoubtedly loose my position as the Hier Apparent. With Ivan in charge I'm not sure where this madness will stop…on the other hand, if I don't…" he stroked her hair. "…I would lose you."

There was a silence for a moment. A long moment.

"I love you, Mariana."

"I love you too, Alexander."

 **Sylvan-Erquinian Border  
2300 hours | 22 March 2016**

What had begun as, well, nobody knew for sure - some sort of preemptive strike - had now escalated into nothing short of a full-scale skirmish between two armed powers.

The Erquinians, after receiving word their patrol convoy had been destroyed, dispatched nothing less than two brigades of the Sixth Mechanized Infantry Division to counter the threat with significant air power. The border became a hotzone of fire and explosions as the Erquinians bombarded the Sylvan side of the border with pre-designated artillery. In the city of Nolivar, less than five kilometers from the Erquinian border, artillery streaked down into the suburbs.

The Sylvans, for their part, returned in kind - with a pre-war contingency plan that called for a massive aerial attack. However, more than a fourth of the theater's aircraft had been diverted to the west to combat the Wankan threat - leaving Sylva's skies dangerously undermanned. The attack was launched nonetheless, with the Sylvans bombarding numerous Erquinian Army positions across the border.

When word reached the desk of First Minister De La Calle, he immediately established a hotline connection to the desk of his northern colleague, Erquinian President Franko Hilary - only to find that the lines had been cut, presumably by a third party. This left the Sylvans no choice but to do things the old fashioned way. Telegram.

 **To : Erquinian Government  
From : Sylvan Government**

Let it be known that the Commonwealth of Sylva does not recognize a state of war with the Socialist Republic. Despite the confrontation on our border, the Sylvan government did not authorize a first strike and will agree to stand down at 0600 hours tomorrow, your Government permitting. Once again, there is no war between Erquin and Sylva, despite what may be happening along our border.

Curiously, some time after the fighting began, five individuals wearing Sylvan Army uniforms were stopped by a lieutenant and ordered to return to the fighting. When they refused, they were ordered to display ID cards so that a proper court-martial could be organized. This led to a discussion, which turned into argument, which turned into the soldiers pointing their weapons at the (truly) Sylvan soldiers. The situation only defused with the arrival of a squadron of Sylvan main battle tanks - the men were taken into custody, at which point it was found they were not Sylvan at all. Though the interrogations would take time, it would no doubt give the Office of National Intelligence something to pour over for the next few days...


	13. Building of a Dream

**Saxony  
Several miles north of Freital  
23rd March 07:08AM**

Brushstroke, the Ducal Commando unit deployed to defend Hill 869, trudged through thick and heavy mud. A sudden rain had reduced a once green area of Saxony to a slow slog of waterlogged plants and dark brown puddles. Despite the fact they'd been given Sylvan support, despite the terrain and the territorial advantage, the Wankans had simply come in too great a number and determination. There wasn't anything that could have been done, Warrant Officer Sardeis kept telling himself as he led the remnants of his unit, which numbered now no more than sixty odd men who marched their way through the wet and gloomy countryside, which was capable of delaying all bipedal walkers with its unfavourable conditions.

Sardeis remembered, in vivid detail, when he saw his CO, Captain Gebara, get blown to pieces by an artillery shell soon after the Sylvans arrived to reinforce them. It meant that Sardeis was in command of Brushstroke and, seeing the Wankans gunning down ducal commandos through the trees that ran up Hill 869's slope, ordered his men to retreat down the side, away from the battle. Some, unknowing of Captain Gebara's fate, stayed and fought with the Sylvans whilst others heeded Sardeis' words, fleeing alongside him to fight another day. The Warrant Officer had hoped to run into someone, anyone, that was on his side; a militia unit, a Sylvan platoon, perhaps even a squad sent by the Organised States, but there was no one. There was only the long march to the El Camino Royal, which at this point, Sardeis thought, may as well be a line of shattered concrete.

A sudden scream of pain erupted from one of the younger members of Brushstroke, who had finished his compulsory service and was now looking to make a career out of being a commando. Sardeis turned to see him grabbing at his leg as two of his comrades rushed to help. As Sardeis approached, he saw a bear trap had snapped its metallic jaws shut around the boy's boot. The hungry mud had caused the trap to sink into the ground, just out of view of the unit as it approached the clearing. It wasn't an uncommon sight; packs of wolves and other predators were known to wander far from Osterwald during the night, their hunts sometimes lasting into dawn, the traps were a way of farmers knowing whether their herds were in danger of being attacked and, if possible, eliminating the threat once and for all. If only it were that simple in war.

"Open it! Use your knife!" shouted Sardeis at the men under his command. The two commandos complied and unsheathed their blades, stabbing them through the jaws of the trap and prying it open as their young friend continued to scream. Eventually, it worked, and the commando plied his foot from the trap, walking around with a pained look to see what the damage was.

"Mr. Bleier, stop your prancing and look at me!" shouted Sardeis as the young man came to an agonising stop and looked at his superior.

"Can you walk on that, yes or no?"

Bleier looked down at his foot; due to sinking into the mud, the range of the trap must have been lessened as it had severely dented the outer layer of his boot, though one of the teeth must have been bent upwards as there was a large gash at the back, near Bleier's calf. "I'll… I'll be fine sir. I can walk."

"Take some first aid from your pack and put something over it. We need every man we can get if we're going to win this war."

Sardeis decided to push Brushstroke onwards through the clearing. It was eerily quiet, any sign of the people that may have laid the trap was gone, and with the sight of tall towers of black smoke rising over the horizon of the rainy weather, Sardeis had to wonder if hell really was any different from what he was seeing.

"Sir! Sir!" shouted a voice from Sardeis' left. The Warrant Officer turned to see his unit's last surviving radio operator running towards him. "We've got a signal from Dresden! It's Major Bengochea, he's got fresh orders!" The operator handed a small receiver over to Sardeis, who grabbed it and held it up to his mouth as static emanated from the operator's backpack.

"Sir? This is Warrant Officer Aygo Sardeis of Brushstroke Ducal Commandos. We… approximately sixty of us are located… several miles north of the HW2 of El Camino Royal. We need orders, sir."

The Major's voice crackled and bounced in volume before the operator took off his backpack and manually adjusted the radio. "…you hear me, Mr. Sardeis? Your orders are to link up with the 1st Militia a few miles east of your position, from there you are to support the Sylvan effort to recapture Hill 869. It's vital that we push the Wankans back into…" there was more static "…avoid the western portion of the El Camino Royal, Wankans have…" The operator struggled to regain the signal, when the radio just went silent again.

"Sorry, sir. We've lost them, the weather must be affecting our equipment. I've never known it to rain like this for so long..."

Sardeis slung his rifle over his back as he signalled someone further back behind a gathering of trees. A few seconds passed and the remaining Brushstroke commandos, lying in wait in case there were enemies around, emerged from patches of long grass and from behind mounds, walking towards the Warrant Officer. Sardeis looked back at the operator, then to Bleier and finally to the closest commandos that were approaching him. "Alright men, Hatchback Formation! We're heading east to link up with militia units and the Sylvans, then we're going back to the Hill, OUR Hill, and we're taking it right out of Sonneborn's filthy fucking hands!"

 **Saxony  
Northern Sector  
49km North of Chemnitz  
08:43AM**

"Jump it! Go! Go!" shouted one of the commandos belonging to the Nemesis group to one of his colleagues. The commando being shouted at proceeded to vault over his cover, a wall of sandbags, and dart forward. The sound of Wankan rifles firing was the only thing that was passing through the mind of the running commando at the moment; where those guns were, how much ammo was left in them, the accuracy of them. It was these factors on which his survival depended. It was almost like slow motion for the commando as he sprinted to his next position; keeping low and his rifle ready, the commando could see the origins of the bullets of whom he was the intended target and the Wankan personnel handling them.

In the north of Saxony, the Wankans were encountering significant resistance and, unlike their brothers in Brushstroke and Hyperion, Nemesis had yet to retreat. They'd taken steps back, true, but had never broken into a full route back to the vital cities of Chemnitz or Leipzig. It was this position, just outside the range of Chemnitz, that Nemesis had been ordered to hold, and what a fortunate set of terrain it was. Whilst it couldn't be considered mountainous, the terrain wasn't particularly flat either, with large rolling hills covered in immovable rocks dotting the landscape, there was only a handful of paths through to the other side, where any Wankan commander worth his weight with a sizeable force would be able to flank and encircle the remaining Saxon Northern Corps and their Sylvan allies. However, Nemesis had the landscape on lockdown with all possible paths though to the other end monitored and guarded. It certainly wasn't going to be an easy fight for the Wankans.

The commando rushed forward, sliding up against a checkpoint hut as bullets pinged off the concrete that made up the structure. An audible bang rang through the air as a Saxon sniper, perched up behind one of the large rocks on the hills, fired off his high-powered weapon at the Wankan attackers, drawing their attention. There were panicked shouts in German as the rest of the Nemesis commandos returned fire at their foes. The lone commando, seizing his chance, snuck into the hut, hoping to get a safer look at the Wankan forces and pick off vulnerable targets from his new hiding hole. He crept around the reception area and headed off into a small back room, where the Saxon checkpoint guards would rest and entertain themselves. The window gave the commando a perfect vantage point as Wankan after Wankan came into view, ducking behind the sparse natural cover.

Standing back from the window, ducking down and shouldering his rifle, the commando reloaded to a full clip and placed his finger on the trigger.

"I'll see you again, Charlotte." with that final promise to his loved one, the commando squeezed the trigger, obliterating the window as well as the faces of some of the Wankan soldiers that stopped and turned to see their new problem flashing in the checkpoint hut's window.

 **The Count's House  
Port Prince  
Aemen  
10:04AM**

Ivan sat in front of his desk where days earlier his younger brother, Prince Alexander, had stormed in and punched him for putting the Heir Apparent in such a difficult position. The relationship between the two brothers had always been distant and cold, but this seemed to have tipped it over the edge. It didn't matter, not when Ivan had the support of the King. Now, instead of his brother and his father, Ivan was sharing his office with a filming crew from the Ministry of Information, who were preparing to broadcast the Prince's address to the rest of central Septentrion regarding the Saxon war.

A make-up artist ran a brush over Ivan's forehead and slicked back a few rogue hairs on his head as the director explained to him what was going to happen from behind one of the cameras.

"Your Royal Highness, your speech will appear on the prompter to your right, here, as well as to your left, here, should we experience any technical problems with the first. I'll count you in when we're about to go live and from there out, how you say the words is entirely up to you. If at any point you want us to cut the transmission just press the silent buzzer we've hooked up to your side and the cameramen will be notified. Other than that, we'll continue on to the end."

"I've done this sort of thing before for Aemen Commerce, I know how it goes."

"Twenty seconds! Twenty seconds 'til the Prince's speech! Everyone shut up and get out of the camera's view!"

Everyone rushed to get out of the way with the make-up artist applying the finishing touches to Ivan's face. Ivan, who didn't at this point want to appear like another contender in the war, had foregone his father's suggestion that he appear in military uniform, opting instead for one of his expensive suits, one he bought from Dresden during a visit many years ago. Ivan thought of it as a subtle, almost unnoticeable dark joke to himself; he owned the suit, soon he'd own the country.

Ivan took a deep breath and assumed his most neutral and serious facial expression as the director counted down to the broadcast. Standing in the wings, behind the film crew, watched a concerned Prince Tavish and Princess Roseanna. The two siblings had heard of the fight Alexander had initiated with Ivan and had come along together to demand an answer, though they'd get much more than that, as they'd arrived just in time to watch their big brother address the leaders of the warring world.

 _ **This is an official broadcast from the Ministry of Information  
His Royal Highness Prince Ivan will address the leaders of the Septentrion League and Murovanka**_

 _"Good morning, my friends in Sylva, Murovanka and beyond. I trust you're already aware of why I am doing this, though perhaps you aren't and are wondering why I have seen fit to occupy your airwaves. When I look upon our continent, when I look at what we have achieved, both together and in our own borders, I marvel, I'm inspired, I'm honoured and awed all at once. From the times of Folcwalding to the rise of the Allied States, we've built great and glorious things not just for ourselves, but for our people, for our children and for our children's children too._

 _However, I come to you today because that way of thinking is, yet again, in danger. Though Aemen has tried to play the mediator before this mess, this war, boiled into horrific violence, we cannot sit by and watch more innocents become displaced and more children suffer from an unnecessary bout of bloodshed. Not only that, but peoples' livelihoods in the forms of their jobs and the security that comes with it has been terrifyingly smashed into unfixable shards. As a businessman myself I rely on my employees and they rely on me, we build our futures together, we build our fortunes together, but this war has done nothing but tear those dreams apart._

 _I ask the Septentrion League, I ask Chancellor Sonneborn, what are you hoping to achieve by fighting? There is no clear mandate or directive for conflict, no monstrous dictator to depose. This war will scar Saxony for generations to come…_

 _…which is why I have been in contact with my father, King Reginald II, to authorise peacekeeping missions in Saxony itself, where most of the fighting is happening. The Saxon population is suffering the most from this war and the Aemen monarchy cannot sit by and let them be ravaged by a fight that isn't theirs any longer. If hostility does not cease soon, then I shall head a mission that will stretch right across Saxony to halt all violence. Should it come to that, the Aemen military will march through the Seine valley in Murovanka, whether the Sonneborn government agrees to it or not, as we will no longer be bystanders in a war that could very well topple out of the confines of Saxony and spill onto the laps of Mozria, the Allies, or Aemen itself._

 _I have laid out my terms, it is down to you to listen. I wish you all a pleasant discussion about this and a swift end to this petty conflict."_


	14. Breakthroughs

**Second Army | Central Sector  
Second Army AO | Saxony  
Day 11-14 | March 22nd-25th, 2016  
**

"Divisional artillery is covering the withdrawal of the second Füsiliers." reported one radio operator in monotone. "16th Füsilier-Division has captured the border outpost, 17th Füsiliers are closing on to Cottbus."

Generaloberst Hasso Röder, commander of the 4th Panzer-Division noted all this in the back of his mind as he stared at the map of Saxony. To call the past day a showcase of absolute retardation was an understatement. The attack on the Cottbus Salient had been delayed for a day, and then delayed again as League aircraft hit vital bridges on the Weser and Sonneborn now actively starting to interfere with the General Staff's decisions. With dismay the Colonel-General and his starred colleagues watched as the militarily uneducated strongman had decided that he somehow knew better than his staff.

That gave the League more than enough time to send in troops to prepare to receive the Wankan advance toward the Spur 33-El Camino Royal junction, and what followed was utter chaos. The two pincers, consisting of the 5th and 6th Panzer Divisions quickly found themselves in a confusing and maddening battle. The Wankers, who were looking to encircle the League troops, suddenly found themselves partially encircled by the latter and soon nobody on the ground nor in the safety of underground command bunkers knew who was encircling whom. The Sylvans, highly trained in this type of maneuver-warfare situations with their officers exercising independent control of their units, often taking the initiative, easily gained the upper hand in face of the rigid top-down command system that the Wankan Armed Forces was accustomed to. The large Wankan formations were cut down to smaller units and then summarily destroyed by the advanced Sylvan war machine, with Wankan commanders often at a loss at what to do when separated from their commanders. It was nothing short of a disaster which neither the hundreds of Wankan artillery guns nor the Air Force could do much about due to the proximity of the fighting. And now what was following was a messy withdrawal which Röder and other divisions of the Second and Third Armies were to support.

What was the next step? Röder didn't know, and the General Staff seemingly hadn't made up their mind. Then came the coordinated, simultaneous attacks across the entire Saxon front, assaults which were beaten back with varying degrees of success. A flanking move by the 15th Armored Brigade (Sylvan) had managed to achieve what looked like a breakthrough, but were halted and thrown back within hours by the elite 101st Fallschirmjäger encamped on Hill 869. Nevertheless, it had its desired effect; the fact that the League dared to even launch such an attack seemed to have shocked the living daylights out of Sonneborn, who began replacing officers with those not of better ability, but who agreed with him. Still, communication with the High Command was light and their orders were vague and contradictory. Nobody seemed to be taking control, nor knew what to do. The only standing order was to hold the line and support the withdrawing troops of the 5th and 6th Panzer.

"I'll have to see this for myself. If the idiots in High Command can't decide what to do, we might as well decide for them." Röder said, half-swearing, as he boarded a command Schützenpanzer. His reconnaissance units, assisted by behind-the-line Kampfkommandokader special forces, had carefully scanned the sector and had come up with promising results. Up to now he'd trust their words, but this time around he had to see it for himself, especially if he planned to directly disobey the Sonneborns' orders. The ride was uncomfortable, with the inconspicuous armored fighting vehicle making its way through dozens of craters like a boat through waves. The sector that the 4th Panzer was in charge of was opposed by a dug-in Saxon regiment, the 1st Militia. The unit hadn't made a direct attack, but he was sure that subordinate troops had been dispatched to assist in the numerous counterattacks. Especially now, having suffered significant casualties from the day before, were the League lines stretched thin. Not that they'd have anything to worry about with the current state-of-mind of the Wankan top brass.

Arriving roughly a kilometer from the frontlines, he was met by Major Krass, commander of Aufklärungsbatallion 52. Crouching in a camoflaged position, protected by the recon companies' snipers, the officers surveyed the Saxon land laid before them.

"We've been skirmishing along this line for a while." Krass said, drawing a line across the map with his finger. "The best point for a quick and unnoticed breakthrough would be around here, if we silence the forward posts and move in before they realize what had happened. They will know that a hole has been created, but the hills on both sides of the valley provide a good alleyway to sneak in troops into their rear."

Röder nodded in agreement. "Do you think your battalion could do that? Crush the forward scouts before they can inform their headquarters and secure the valley?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. When will the division arrive here? We will need support."

"You will begin soon, I will tell you when. The division will move soon enough; just not yet or it'll alarm the Saxons. Go in quick, and do not call in artillery or air support until you absolutely need to."

After making several calls, the armored division prepared itself to move. On the front itself, the well-trained troops of AfkBtn52 launched coordinated ambushes on Saxon forward bases, prioritizing first of all the destruction of the connection between the enemy recon units and their headquarters. Nearly the entire 200-strong battalion rushed forward into the valley, now taking on the role as the vanguard of the Röders' Panzer-Division. By the time the local Saxon regiment commander was alerted to the attack on his front, the first tanks of the division sneaked into the temporary gap, hidden from enemy view by the protective terrain. Divisional artillery pounded Saxon positions further west, seemingly to cover the 5th Panzers' retreat but actually to provide a distraction from what was actually going on. Röder himself, ignoring the warnings of danger from his subordinates, drove into the valley. Looking out of the APC, he could make out even in the relative darkness the shapes of his tank companies reorganizing themselves. His vehicle came to a stop next to Krass' command carrier.

"Führen sie uns vorwärts!" ("Lead the way!") ordered Röder. "Don't stop!"

"Jawohl!"

Röder, standing amongst the array of heavy Wankan steel, waved his commanders forward. "FAHRKARTE BIS ZUR ENDSTATION!" ("Ticket to the last station!") he shouted, his hair swirling around his face as engines growled to life, and tracks once again began churning up mud. Expertly led by Major Krass, the thin defenses of the 1st Militia were quickly surprised and overwhelmed before they could be reinforced, and companies of tanks streamed through the small gap in the League's defenses. This one single occasion where a Wankan commander decided to take the initiative would soon prove to be a headache to the League Command.

Chaos was again developed on the Saxon front, but this time, it was the Wankers who were in control. The tanks of the 4th Panzer mercilessly cut into their supply lines and rolled up the League defenses from the flanks and from the rear. Within hours, the Saxon regiment was completely routed, with some units captured and others fleeing to nearby allied brigades. But Röder wasn't going to stop there. While his Füsilier-regiment mopped up and secured the 30-kilometer-long gap, his leading armored regiments were charging straight for the El Camino Royal.

The Colonel-General had just repeated his order for what has perhaps been the hundredth time today, reminding his officers "not to stop at any cost", when a call came in from the General Staff. Röder had left only a short, vague message, as ambiguous as those sent by the indecisive High Command, and thinking that nothing of importance was happening, he had not heard from his superiors since. His orders were strictly to cover the 5th's retreat and hold the line against further League attacks. The three-star braced himself.

It was Sonneborn _persönlich_. Sonneborn himself.

" _HERR GENERALOBERST, SAGEN SIE MAL, SIND SIE VERRÜCKT?_ " ("Mister Colonel-General, have you gone mad?") Sonneborns' piercing voice screamed into his ear.

"Listen. I've just created us a breakthrough, and we're about to seize control of the El Camino Royal- "

"Are you directly disobeying me? Your orders were to hold our damn line and explicitly not to compromise our already fragile situation! Now, if you want to keep your command, no, if you want to keep your job, you will immediately cease your egoistic adventures and pull back to the lines you're meant to protect!"

" _Herr Kommandant_ , there is a gaping thirty kilometer hole in the League's defences. If you're interested in winning this war, you will have the Second Army redirect its attention to our breakthrough so that we can maintain the momen-"

"YOU MADMAN- " Well, two can play the game. Röder had the connection cut as he turned back to more important matters than arguing with this civilian, namely, to ensure that enough damage was done to convince Sonneborn to help instead of impede him. As expected, the 15th Panzerregiment, now his personal spearhead, soon grabbed control of a section of the El Camino Royal after fierce fighting with desperate Saxon soldiers sent to plug the gap. He had, with one daring stroke, cut off the main supply and reinforcement line running from Dresden to the Cottbus salient, a line so heavily and well defended it seemed impregnable to Wankan commanders. What had been a successful if costly series of attacks to buy time for the Sylvans turned into a dangerous tactical blunder as they didn't account for one certain officer who refused to conform to the Wankan military doctrine. Emphasis on maneuver instead of combat, the one General had learned from the Sylvans, and thus turned the enemies' doctrine against themselves.


	15. a la Outrance

It was the 24th of March. Nearly two weeks into the Wanko-League war for Saxony. Despite the urgent, threatening calls by the Wankan top brass, the tanks of the 4th Panzer-Division continued their rampage into central Saxony. Across the fertile hills and grasslands, an out-of-control monster systematically destroyed column after column of vital fuel and ammunition supplies to the Cottbus Salient, along with surprised reinforcements not expecting contact in their hinterland. The confusion in the League chain of command soon settled, however, and more reservist Saxon regiments were rushed to contain Röders' marauding Panzers. In the meantime, the anger (mostly of Sonneborn) of his superiors subsided as troops of the Second and Third Armies reduced the Cottbus Salient, whose defenders, with their main rail and road supply line cut and lacking ammunition and fuel, withdrew in an orderly fashion down the A13.

But now Generaloberst Hasso Röder, who had single-handedly closed the Cottbus Salient, was getting angry. Sonneborn, now the undisputed Wankan military commander (von der Leijen was now just a shadow advisor), still refused to give support to Röder. With his ego needing protection, giving the disobedient commander what he wanted was out of question. Röder had squeezed the League forces into retreating through a thin pocket along the A13 anchored at Meissen, but he lacked the forces required to cut the enemy off completely. Forces that Sonneborn could provide. Instead, the 5th Panzer-Division was ordered to support the Third Armies' drive toward Freital, while Röders 4th Panzer was coming under heavy pressure from three Saxon regiments and the Sylvan 17th Armored Brigade Combat Team. He could only watch helplessly as the 4th Militia (Saxon) threw his 13th Panzerregiment back, further increasing the area in which the nearly-entrapped League forces could escape through. In the rear, the Sylvans nearly surrounded the 4th Panzer itself, only stopped by last-ditch massed landings of the 26th Divisions' experienced paratroopers.

And so, the orchestrator of what could have been the deciding strike of the war was thwarted by his own superiors. Röder swore and slammed his fist onto the plastic table of his temporary command center, shattering it to pieces after his radio operator informed him that the Saxon 3rd Militia had managed to defeat his attempts to capture the McKinley Arsenal. Towards the end of the day, the long, once lethal salient created by the 4th Panzer was slowly reduced in size. Only too late, and likely intentionally, did Sonneborn finally relent and sent help to Röder; but by that time the chance to entrap a large part of the League army was gone. Nevertheless, the 4th Panzer remained in firm control of the El Camino Royal and as such the main supply route ran through the A13, a much longer and less-developed freeway. On the 25th March Freital was taken after fierce fighting which saw the 6th Panzer-Division having to be pulled from the front for refitting after sustaining heavy casualties to determined League resistance. On the same day, Röders' 4th Panzer finally regained the initiative, seizing the strategically important McKinley Arsenal while nearly encircling the Sylvan 17th ABCT, which had held out stubbornly in its sector. The Sylvans, running out of vital supplies, finally had to withdraw and that night the Third Armies' 17th Füsiliers successfully secured Meissen. Sonneborn celebrated these significant land gains and attributed them to his superior military strategy while a still-dejected Hasso Röder recognized with frustration that they had simply shortened the front that the League had to defend. Essentially, they had helped the enemy with their logistical situation, instead of destroying them outright. Screw Sonneborn and his cronies, was all Röder could say.

 **Fourth Army | Southern Sector  
Wallis | Volksrepublik Wanka  
Day 11-14 | March 22nd-25th, 2016  
**

The underground command bunker shook with every artillery shell impact. Despite their logistics system spanning over two hundred fifty kilometers long, the Sylvans found it no problem to rain near ceaselessly shells and rockets onto the encircled Wankan Fourth Army. Coupled with near total air superiority, the Wankan situation seemed to be absolutely hopeless. The fact that the Wankers _still_ outnumbered the Sylvans on a 2:1 ratio on the East Bank of the Seine was not comforting and every day probing attacks shook the nerves of the demoralized Wankan soldiers. There was still hope; the Fifth Army had been formed, consisting of the 21st, 22nd and 24th Füsilier Divisions who were bringing in their heavy armor and mechanized infantry to bear. The only problem was that the Sylvan 29th Armored Cavalry Regiment had reached the Seine first and set up excellent defensive positions, with help of the terrain, along the east bank of the wide river and the 22nd and 24th lacked the necessary specialized bridging equipment and training that was allocated to the Second Army for the crossing of the Weser.

A breakout attempt was still possible, and the breakout group, centred around the heavy infantry and armor of the 23rd Füsiliers, was formed. The Air Force redirected squadrons of fighter jets toward the southern front, while choppers and other planes readied themselves to exploit the air supremacy that the fighters would create, allowing them to assist the group, dubbed "Kampfgruppe Eisenhardt" after the group leader, Generalmajor Eisenhardt. On the early morning of the 23rd March, Kampfgruppe Eisenhardt moved out, down the Highlands Mountain Pass in hope of breaking the 29th ACR's (Sylvan) lines.

High above in the dark night sky, Leutnant Lena Letten of III/JG 5, a G-29 fighter wing, looked down toward the ground. Where Wankan tanks, supported by the Füsiliers, were making a desperate attempt at breaking out. The occasional flash from a tank cannon illuminated the formation, now heavily engaged in combat. Below her, the less technologically advanced G-23s of the Air Force were pounding Sylvan positions with rockets, missiles and bombs; joining the fight, dozens of heavy KH-13 Löwin tank hunter choppers. As rehearsed, ground forces and air forces worked near perfectly in tandem with opposing Sylvan troops soon falling back and giving way to the push of Kampfgruppe Eisenhardt.

 _"Wurm Zwo-Eins, Gott-Zwo_ , League fighter, presumably a Sylvan SiF-19, detected fifty klicks northeast of your position." the radio cackled, with the overwatching AWACs aircraft, aptly named "God-Two", vectoring Lettens' flight toward an approaching enemy fighter. It made an abrupt turn, however, and with six Wankan fighters on its tail, made a sudden dive for the ground. Letten released one of her IR-guided short range missiles, and once achieving a lock, the others followed suite. Chaff and flares exploded around the Sylvan fighter as its pilot expertly jinked his (or her) plane left and right. Every single missile sent toward the SiF-19 mysteriously missed; the enemy fighter was somehow way too manoeuvrable and managed to dodge and outturn the swarms of missile sent after him, as if the aircraft had been somehow _adapted_ for missile evasion…

The Wankan pilots were right about that. Missile lock warnings blared out all of a sudden, and from high above stealthy League aircraft, waiting in ambush, soared in to intercept the Wankan aircraft. Chaff helped Letten lose a radar-guided missile, but a second one wasn't to be fooled. She ejected split seconds before her fighter exploded. Looking around, she could make out two other parachutes. None of the six Wankan fighters survived the engagement, some lingering on for longer than others, but eventually all were downed, robbing the ground-attack aircraft part of their vital air cover.

This was coordinated with an excellently executed plan on the ground. The Wankers did the predictable, and the Sylvans moved in to doom them to defeat. The Sylvan 36th Infantry Brigade Combat Team rushed in under the cover of nearby hills, cutting off the battle group from the rest of the retreating Fourth Army. It was then further split into isolated groups as more Sylvan troops joined the mix, with paratroopers being brought in via chopper of the 23rd Combat Aviation Brigade. General Eisenhardt himself and the majority of his staff were captured when a company of Sylvan paratroopers landed in his area, which brought the breakout effort to an end. The battlegroup was clinically destroyed, with hundreds coming into enemy captivity. The fields and roads were littered with destroyed Wankan armor and dead bodies as the Sylvan troops regained the ground that they had lost, and then continued to pressure the rest of the Fourth Army.

The Fourth was now barely able to fight. Surrounded around Wallis, demoralized, starved and sleep-deprived Wankan Füsiliers and mountain troops clung hopelessly on to their positions as enemy artillery ceaselessly pounded them. The remaining surviving tanks were used as bunkers and stationary guns, as nearly all fuel had been used up or captured during the breakout attempt. Ammunition supplies were also running low, but it was the basic needs- sleep and food- which was pushing the remnants of the four divisions to breaking point. Zicher, who'd only gotten two hours of sleep in the last three days, was nearing collapse. The unexpected crossing by the 13th Infantry Brigade (Sylvan) across the Seine into their rear barely provoked a reaction. It was the 24th of March, and the Fourth was being slowly but surely forced into a tighter and tighter enclave around Wallis.

The small town had already been bombed to rubble, with heavy civilian casualties, many of whom were involved in helping the Fourth dig defensive positions in and around the town. In the evening, what length of road that the Fourth had of the Mountain Pass was captured by the Sylvans, and it was then that Zicher knew that the war was going to end for him soon. An armored breakthrough of the Wankan perimeter was barely contained as the night came in, and yet the Sylvans didn't give up. Remnants of the 23rd, 28th, 29th and 30th Divisions were forced back into the town itself by midnight as the Wankers prepared themselves for a defiant last stand in the urban landscape.

The morning of the 25th March dawned. Generaloberst Albert Zicher could already hear exchanges of small-arms fire near his underground bunker in Wallis itself. A machinegun rattled away, silenced by two grenade explosions. Screams in German and Spanish could be heard. Somehow, the General registered the report that the 22nd Füsiliers had managed to force a crossing over the Seine and was rushing toward the Fourth. It didn't matter anymore, he had made up his mind. The Sylvans were already well inside the town; entire battalions of infantry were isolated in the suburbs, already many of them surrendering. Sonneborn had not made any demands that the Fourth fight to the last man, thankfully. High Command was strangely silent.

 _"Herr Generaloberst_ , we need to move to the secondary command post at the church. The Sylvans are closing in on our position." his XO informed him.

"Nein," Zicher responded, his voice resigned and shallow. _"Dieser Wahnsinn hat hier sein Ende."_ ("This madness ends here.")

With that, he gave the order to all troops of the Fourth Army to surrender. On this day, twenty-five thousand Wankan soldiers laid down their arms.

 **Max-Bonhöffer-Streitkräftezentrale-Nürnberg  
Nürnberg | Wanka  
Day 15 | March 26th, 2016**

The atmosphere was tense, there was no hiding it. Three dissenting generals had been sacked, replaced by those who were seen as more loyal and supportive to Sonneborn. The message was clear: the Führer was in control. Nobody dared to voice his or her opinion, unless it agreed with Sonneborns' point of view. Von der Leijen was now not anymore directing the effort, he was merely giving advice- advice which had been more often than not swept aside. The Field Marshal had staunchly pushed for support to be given to his old friend, Hasso Röder, and only once it was too late did Sonneborn relent, while sending him a clear message that he had to be careful about defending his comrades on the front.

 _"Nein, nein, nein_ … I will have no more of your bullshit. We will be going for Dresden, not in a weeks time after which we may or may not have it encircled, but tomorrow." said Sonneborn, banging his fist on the table. The officers discussing the plans to capture the over 1,200 square kilometer-big city shrank back into their seats.

"I've given you more than a week in control, and look where you got us. 20 kilometers into Saxony is all you had to show for!" he said, his voice rising, before falling again. "With matters in my hands, within three days we have captured half of Saxony. You useless clean-uniformed officers, enjoying the nice life while your troops fight and die for you on the front. Not one idea of how to wage war."

Von der Leijen couldn't help but grunt in disapproval, which Sonneborn conveniently ignored. Taking the credit from Röder, after he'd _did everything he could to impede the 4th Panzers progress_!

"We will go directly for Dresden. It is their capital, it is the symbol of Sylvan dominance. We will grab it directly, no matter the cost. The armed forces have trained for this, I've seen the reports and we've seen their ability at Zwickau. You can forget your defeatist attitude. Dresden will be _the_ prize that wins us the war."

"Dresden is inhabited, to 80%, by Sylvans. If the progress of our troops is impeded, do not hesitate to bring in heavy firepower to subdue the enemy. If need be, have the city burnt and bombed to rubble; trust me when I say that it is bad for their morale. An intact city would be nice, but I see no harm in wiping that bunch of Sylvan construction from the face of the earth."

With those words, the Battle of Dresden began. Even as divisions and armies were reorganized, plans laid out for the invasion of the city, Wankan aircraft taking off from the captured Brahms-Hertz Barracks and Zwickau began the brutal, indiscriminate firebombing of the once flourishing metropolitan city. Waves after waves of Air Force planes dropped tons of conventional and incendiary bombs, including napalm, on the city. Military targets were targeted, but on orders of Sonneborn himself, numerous civilian targets were hit too to cause "maximum psychological damage". Soon aflame, the firebombing sparked yet another mass exodus of civilians, mostly those who found it difficult or could not leave for Sylva earlier on. Occasionally, napalm bombs landed on the fleeing innocents, causing horrific deaths captured on camera. The civilian casualty rate for this war, already pretty high, started to skyrocket while League soldiers, a bit disoriented by the mad Wankan air campaign, happily used the rubble to build their defensive positions.

Meanwhile, in the south, the 22nd Füsiliers who had managed to cross the Seine had its advance toward Wallis halted after the Fourth Army capitulated, with the Sylvans able to bring to bear the brigades formerly tied up with the Fourth. The 24th Füsiliers, meanwhile, was engaging the 12th and 13th Sylvan Brigades, its advance also halted by the superior Sylvan air presence. Both part of the newly created Fifth Army, their orders were to hold the line and not expect reinforcements anytime soon, as Sonneborn was adamant about committing everything to the fight for Dresden. If necessary, however, the 21st Füsiliers was placed on standby as they dug defensive positions running along the Seine river toward the important logistics and industrial hub of Hessen-Wiesbaden.


	16. Beginning of the End

**Cottbus | Saxony  
Day 15 | March 26th, 2016  
**

" _MAMA! SCHNELLER!" the girl desperately shouted as her mother rushed toward the underground shelter, bags full of groceries. The once distant shelling was rolling ever closer, and so was the gunfire… the girl knew that just a block away, there was a Saxon sniper position. Overhead, the deafening roar of a G-23 could be heard as it shot over the city; only once it was out of sight did the bombs explode, shaking the walls of the shelter. Despite this, civilians were trying to get on with everyday life. Behind her mother, elderly women packed up their stalls and rolled their fragile carts away, all the while praying that no random bullet or shell would find them. A tank shell blitzed across the street, ramming itself into a high-rise apartment building just twenty meters away. The girls' mother and everyone around threw themselves to the ground, before picking themselves up again._

 _"NEEEEIIINN! MAMA, RENN! ES FÄLLT" the ten-year-old said, stunned to silence as she watched the building collapse straight onto the street, falling faster and faster toward the one and only surviving family member she had in this world…_

She woke up screaming. " _Beatrice, Beatrice, hab keine Angst… beruhige dich…_ " ("Beatrice, Beatrice, don't worry, calm down…") a soothing voice said, placing a cool hand on her head. It was their neighbour and friend. She knew at once that she was now part of their family; it had been agreed upon beforehand, if anything was to occur to either of their parents. The shelter was remarkably empty and the sounds of detonating artillery shells were gone.

"The Saxons have left the city. The Wankers are in charge now." her new mother explained, hugging the dazed child, who did not say a word. Instead, she slowly, almost robotically, walked out into the open. The streets were littered with rubble, the apartment building blocking the road. Was that a hand sticking out from beneath one of the boulders? She looked away. A burnt out Trojan I tank lay in one of the alleyways, its turret some fifty meters away. Blood, shell casings and glass lay strewn across the streets, but there were no bodies lying around. Soldiers in Wankan military uniform patrolled the city. Their uniforms were clean, and they didn't seem to take notice of the horrific stench and scenes of absolute annihilation around them, instead joking amongst another in between taking shots from Schnapps bottles. These were certainly not the battle-hardened regular soldiers of the Wankan ground forces, more likely reserves or some mercenaries.

She continued walking down, seemingly aimlessly, though she knew very well the roads in these areas. Passing by were large armored vehicles with Wankan markings. Cranes, bulldozers and other bulky engineering vehicles were busy clearing and paving the streets. Cottbus was strategically vital, logistically speaking, with wide roads and an existing railroad perfect for keeping the aggressive war machine rolling. The girl continued walking. Ordinary Saxons had reappeared on the streets, many of them crying and sobbing, for in the violent onslaught it was inevitable that so-called "collateral damage" would occur. Two days ago the main city hospital had been "accidentally" bombed by the Wankan Air Force, killing over one hundred and wounding over three hundred more, with dozens still missing. Then a stray bomb hit the main marketplace, which she knew was now just one big crater with body parts and all sorts of burnt out fruits and vegetables in it.

The occupation forces weren't helping. While the regular soldiers simply did their job to clear the roads and ensure that the Second and Third Armies could keep advancing, reservists sent to occupy the cities and towns did all they could to alienate the local populations. Ethnic Wankers and German-speakers were rarely harmed, but the same could not be said for ethnic Sylvans. Relations between Wankers and Saxons (of both races) were not exactly high, with public opinion especially with Saxo-Wankers turning against the invaders while solidarity with Sylvo-Saxons grew. Locals were indiscriminately brought in for interrogation- torture- and rape, looting and pillaging were now common occurrences, varying of course by region. It was not sanctioned by the military, but low-level officers more often than not feared a revolt if they stood in the way of the former criminals. The occasional celebratory shooting, drunken parties and general absolute lack of discipline made it seem like a random, barbaric militia or mafia had just wandered into the wrong country.

As she turned a corner, she could see a Saxon boy being dragged across the street by laughing Wankan soldiers. His face had been bloodied and he was screaming in pain as glass and debris dug into his skin. Several regular troopers looked on with concern, with an angry Captain marching over. Their conversation barely registered in Beatrice' ears. She had seen, and heard enough.

 _"Was soll das?"_ ("What's this about?") said the Captain, a hint of disgust in his voice.

 _"Der kleine Schweinshund hat mich beleidigt,"_ ("The bastard insulted me") replied one of the privates.

 _"Und dafür müsst ihr ihn töten?"_ ("Which is why you need to kill him?") said the Captain, clear anger in his voice now as he moved toward the half-drunk reservists. "Let go!"

 _"Hee, nicht so hastig… hier haste keine Autorität."_ ("Not so fast, you don't have any authority here.") replied another, pushing the barrel of his G-74 into the officers stomach. The Captain didn't shrink back.

"Have it your way. You continue like this and you'll soon have a revolt to deal with." He flicked the barrel away, turned and marched back toward his troop. The Captain wasn't wrong. Having dealt for years with insurgencies in Wanka, he knew that alienating the local populations, whether or not they were Wankan, was unnecessary and costly. Partisan activities would only increase, and then they would have to be beaten back, and more civilians would be caught in the fighting, and the vicious cycle would continue. As in every conflict, the ones who suffered most was always the poor and innocent.

Beatrice, meanwhile, had reached her home, or what was left of it, unaware that her new mom was following her from a distance. The windows were all shattered. The brick wall was no more, having been rolled over and flattened by a pair of tank tracks. These tracks ran straight through her garden. The roof had caved in, presumably from a high-caliber artillery shell. Bullets had pockmarked the walls.

"Don't go in, it might collapse!" a voice from behind warned her, but she was not to be stopped. Inside, she could see a gaping hole through the back of the house. A tank shell had ripped through, detonating and turning everything- toys, furniture- to black flakes. She found out why when she walked up into her room. A foul stench, worse than that of a rotting egg, wafted out through the door and when she looked in, she was met by the sight of a machine gun and the terribly mangled body of a Saxon soldier. Coughing, she collapsed to the ground, her mind going black, hoping she would never wake up again…

 **Gladbach Refugee Camp  
Gladbach | Wanka  
Day 16 | March 27th, 2016  
**

"Repeat after me." the teacher, a stern-faced middle-aged man, said, staring intently at the roughly one hundred children before him.

 _"Ich schwöre,"_ ("I swear") he said, _"für immer und ewig dem Wankschen Vaterland treu zu dienen"_ ("to forever loyally serve the Wankan fatherland.")

Today, he would begin with a history lesson, teaching the young Saxon refugees "the truth" about Saxony. How the once happy, flourishing state was cruelly robbed from the glorious and peace-loving Wanka by evil Sylvan imperialists. How families had been forcefully torn apart, how resistance movements were brutally crushed. He knew he had to tread cautiously, as this ran contrary to what the youngsters had been caught in their Sylvan-dominated educational system. He was prepared, with a load of facts, graphs and statistics and arguments and rhetoric strong enough to convince a Sylvan soldier to start fighting for the Wankan cause. At least that was what he hoped it would be. First, however, came the mandatory singing of the Wankan national anthem. The beautiful, natural, pure song of one truly exceptional race.

"One, two, three- "

" _Recht und Freiheit sei beschieden,  
Wanka, unser'm Vaterland  
Alle Völker sehn' nach Frieden,  
Erhebt euch Wank'sches Völkerschaft…_

In the background to the enthusiastic, patriotic chanting were scenes of chaos along with the stench of hopelessness and futility. Over a million Saxons had fled into Wanka to escape the bloodshed, and nearly 200,000 of those were concentrated in one now overpopulated, stinking patch of grasslands on the outskirts of the once respectable city of Gladbach. Not only did the residents have to deal with inadequate supplies of food, water and other basic needs along with terribly unhygienic conditions (and a feared cholera epidemic), they also had to deal with a rise in anti-Saxon attacks by local Wankers, despite the best efforts to prevent such.

Riot police watching over an anti-refugee protest. Rival gangs battling it out on the camp alleys. Human and animal waste matter and pools of urine lying around randomly. Soldiers putting out a fire. More soldiers evacuating wounded Saxons who'd been hit by League bombs which strayed off target. Above that all, the hoarse singing of children whose lives had been torn to shreds by the war.

The oldest residents had now stayed for a month, and the living conditions had just gotten worse. The logistical requirements for the Wankan war machine was already strained enough without having to deal with supplying a million culturally foreign civilians. Essential facilities and services- hospitals, schools, waste disposal, water collection areas- were no longer coordinated centrally, with most aid coming entirely from non-governmental aid organizations by more empathetic Wankers from all over the country. The outpour of support for the ethnic kin was just as big as the angry response by those who saw the refugees as a nuisance and who felt threatened by their sudden, massive rise in numbers. Still, it was far from enough to provide for the helpless Saxons. Something Sonneborn was happy to take advantage of.

Not hidden at all from public view were the numerous recruitment and training centers not only outside the camp but also within it. Chanting slogans urging young Saxons to join the "powerful, honorable and illustrious" armed forces, military recruiters stood ready to promise an assortment of enticing offers, especially to those whose livelihoods had been taken by either League or Wankan bombers: the full rights of citizenship; a permanent, acceptably-paid job and perhaps most importantly a home, big enough to house their family and relatives in addition to being in a place of their choosing. If only they would pick up a rifle and fight for a nation they'd previously hardly felt any affection toward (and which in many cases was responsible for putting them in their dire situation in the first place). Nevertheless, it did prove to persuade huge numbers of both young male and female Saxons. Enough, Sonneborn regarded smugly, to put together perhaps four special Saxon divisions. Of course, that wouldn't be possible; the Saxons were spread thinly all over the new reserve units that were springing out of the blue. Since the beginning of the war Sonneborn had lifted the cap on army numbers, and the number of personnel truly exploded. Not that they were the quality, experienced and well-trained troops fighting in Saxony, but it was good to have them in reserve.

Of course, not all Saxons fell into the happily-laid traps of the Sonneborn regime. It was obvious enough to many that this was simply one great manipulation- though they didn't have much of a choice. They, too, had formed their own gangs and occasionally clashed with anti-refugee gangs and rival mafia groups which ruled parts of the camp. It was a vicious cycle. One thing was clear: integrating all these refugees into Wankan society, turning them into productive citizens, even with the inclusion of tens of thousands into the armed forces, wasn't easy. Reintegrating the historically Wankan state of Saxony back into the Reich was soon becoming not only what many Saxons would risk their lives to prevent, but also something Sonneborn increasingly distanced himself from. Saxony, and not only because it was militarily difficult to conquer, was proving to provide more troubles than benefits to the Wankan autocrat.

 **An officially nonexistent Mansion  
50km outside Osnabrügg | Wanka  
0300 Hours| Day 16 | March 27th, 2016  
**

Inside a black, unmarked Mercedes van parked two kilometers, and as such well out of sight of the mansions inhabitants, the hunched Sylvan in glasses typed away furiously with his screen full of numbers and letters which Kanaris wished he could understand. Finally, the Sylvan gave him the thumbs up.

"All electronic systems have been jammed, and all connection to the outside world has been cut. I can maintain this for at most ten minutes until the Wankan cyber defense can break through."

"All units, mission is a go." Kanaris said. Over the radio, three confirmations came through. Two Sylvan special forces elements, handpicked for the mission, rose out of the darkness. A barely audible _bang_ could be heard, and the twelve Sylvan troopers stormed the compound, their silenced assault rifles raised high. The inhabitants of the mansion wouldn't be able to see anything, their cameras were all out. As the Sylvan computer genius would later say, the Wankers were hopeless at cybersecurity. It so happened that electronics played such a vital role in the heavily protected house, and so Kanaris had brought along, with help of the Sylvan military, one of the best hackers in the world. Now all the Geheimpolizei had to defend their prize were their guns.

The Sylvan soldiers had been brought in via helicopter, which flew dangerously close through the Allgäu mountains toward the Todeswald, the _Forest of Death_ , where they were now stationed, refuelled and well-camoflaged into their surroundings. They would be needed soon.

Kanaris wished that his operatives could carry out the mission, but being under ground had its limits, after all. No more fancy equipment to choose from, no more unlimited supply of ammunition, grenades and demolition charges which his special forces-capable agents could use. Thankfully, the Sylvans were generous in this regard. Well, the mission would help them after all.

From nearby hills, suppressed shots rang out. Snipers, all Wankan, covered all four sides of the house and accurately picked out any target which were unlucky enough to come between their crosshairs. Another charge was placed at the door, which quietly exploded inward just as it was supposed to do. The Sylvans, now inside, found themselves facing a dead body ripped apart by the explosive force and door debris. The experienced operators fanned out, scanning the room with their night-vision goggles. The inhabitants were seemingly still not yet alarmed. The first element went upstairs to the second floor, the second went down to the basement. Several silenced shots could be heard on the second floor as the Sylvans cleared room after room of Gepo agents, many of them doctors.

The second element went down. The lead trooper suddenly found a wide-eyed guard within his sights; he collapsed to the ground a second later. From there, however, hell broke loose. Screams erupted further down the hallway, and more Gepo guards appeared, most still half asleep. One by one, these fell to silent shots by accurate Sylvan fire as the unit rushed forward, ducking random, blind fusillades of submachinegun fire. Thankfully, it didn't occur to the enemy to switch on the lights.

As they reached the end of the hallway and turned a corner in the impossibly large basement, they saw what the guards were protecting. Inside a dimly lit room full of high-tech hospital equipment alongside torture apparatus all to well known to the notorious secret police- sat Ulrike Meinhof, alive and kicking. Not literally, because she was tied firmly to a chair. The gunfire had abruptly stopped; all Wankans lay dead, apparently.

Except for one, who appeared just as the Sylvan point-man was about to enter the room. His MP-10 came alive, its rounds punching the first Sylvan to the ground before three rounds ripped into him in quick succession. As he collapsed, he recalled his final orders and as he lay on the ground, with his last breath, he pulled on the trigger of his weapon, sending bullets flying- into the direction of the former Wankan chancellor.

The Sylvan captain swore as he and his colleagues untied the woman who had been held captive for over a year as Sonneborn attempted to get her on his side, an effort quite obviously wasted. She had grown numb and immune to the pain of the electric shocks and numerous attempts at psychological torture the Gepo had tried on her, all of which didn't leave any visible scars. Until now. The Sylvans checked her wounds; four bullets had hit her, two critically in the chest. She didn't faint, instead, she screamed out loud and kept screaming after being given a dose of morphine. The group rushed out toward the waiting van, which had come to a screeching stop in front of the house. She was loaded into the van which sped off toward the forest together with the Sylvan special forces. Around the house itself, Kanaris' agents ransacked the house for intelligence information and anything else of importance, before blowing it sky-high.

Inside the van, the Sylvan medic worked desperately on Meinhof, who had passed out. Kanaris, hunched over her, swore silently. _If only there was a God. And we could simply pray for her and everything would be alright._ The medic's head rose, his eyes clearly troubled, and he shook his head. At that moment, Meinhof's eyes flipped open. Recognizing Kanaris, she said softly: _"Wilhelm… tun Sie mir mal 'n Gefallen… rette Wanka."_ ("Wilhelm… do me a favor… save Wanka.")

Kanaris nodded solemnly. "I will."

Having heard that, the eyes of the mother of the nation closed for the last time, her mouth formed into an assured smile.

 _I will. Just not today_ _._


	17. Battle of Dresden

_**Operation Endsieg**_ **  
March 28th-April 3rd, Day 17-23**

Experienced. Battle-hardened. Numerically superior, by far. Yet nothing seemed to ever go in Wankas favor. A quarter of Dresden, the historic Saxon capital, already lay in ruins as the first Wankan troops marched in. The 12th Füsiliers lead the way into Dresdens metropolitan area, its troops soon bogging down in Mobschatz, where the Sylvans ruled the battlefield from the former police academy, now a solid impregnable bunker. Artillery and airstrikes had sent piles of rubble covering the streets, making it impossible for armored vehicles to move through. From just under 500 meters away, Captain Roland Katsnaroff, back in action because of the manpower shortage, grimly surveyed the battlefield from his tank.

 _"Hauptmann, beschießen sie das MG-Nest im roten Haus vor unsere Stellung…"_ ("Captain, shoot at the MG-Nest in the red House in front of our position…") the voice of a Füsilier company captain, whom Katsnaroff's company was covering, chattered through the radio.

 _"Verstanden. Sprenggranate laden. Feuer."_

For probably the thousandths or so time in his life, the Captain felt the tank rocking back as the high explosive shell left the barrel. It detonated in the walls of the targeted house, making the roof cave in. The machinegun position stopped firing.

 _"Getroffen. Dankeschön."_

As another high-explosive round was loaded, Katsnaroff continued to survey the landscape before him from within the tank when suddenly a streak of white smoke, far too close for comfort, appeared out of nowhere seemingly from right in front of him. The rocket-propelled grenade slammed into a house behind him, glass and debris raining down on the tank which shook under their impacts. Katsnaroff took control of the turret-mounted 7.62mm machine gun and placed the enemy anti-tank team between his sights, letting loose an angry stream of bullets. However, the enemy team had disappeared. Probably down the sewers, which they knew so well. _Damnit_. Surrounding Füsiliers were mostly pinned down and unable to support; the enemy squad would have plenty of time until reinforcements arrived to clear the pesky underground stab-in-the-back tunnel system.

Screw it. Handing command of the company to his lieutenant in another tank, Katsnaroff and his driver slung their MP-10s across their backs and vaulted out of the metal giant. The place where the enemy had disappeared down to was barely a hundred meters away. _Damn lucky they'd missed_. He jumped into the gap, and found himself face to face with two surprised Sylvan soldiers, one of them preparing an RPG for firing. With the barrel of his machine pistol, Katsnaroff quickly whacked the assault rifle out of the second Sylvan soldiers hands, with his driver jamming his gun into the stomach of the first. Behind him he heard loud shouting. _No time to take prisoners_. He lifted his weapon and put three bullets in the Sylvans head; his driver followed suit. Mission accomplished? Both of them climbed out quickly, heaving a heavy stone over the small gap. Hopefully the infantry would come along to clear the passages, or no vehicle would be safe.

Back in his tank, he saw that little progress had been made. He was informed that the 5th Panzer-Division was pushing north of Cossebaude in a flanking attack to surround the League troops. The Second Army was throwing everything it had at the entrenched League forces, and up to now it was losing everything it sent at them. A battalion of the 26th Fallschirmjäger could be soon seen coming in low and fast, but the Sylvans were well prepared against this tactic, used numerous times before at Cottbus and Zwickau. From behind League lines, hidden, rapid-fire AA autocannons roared up, diligently focusing fire on the choppers while below, MANPADs were laid ready. They defied the angered response by covering attack helicopters, and soon, with four troop-heavy choppers spiralling to the ground and nearly every other aircraft damaged, the mission had to be aborted. Further north, the 5th Panzer's armored spearheads headed straight into what was called "death alleys", where tanks were murdered column after column by well-prepared League ambushes, whose soldiers with help of local Saxons made extensive use of the sewage system.

Only late on the next day did the League abandon its position at the old police academy as the 5th Panzer threatened to encircle them. The 12th Füsilier's advance didn't last long and after clearing the neighbouring Cossebaude and Gompitz districts, it ran into more heavily fortified lines at Cotta. Part of a series of defenses running from Klotzsche down to Plauen, designed to protect the city center, the Sylvans and Saxon troops with help of remaining local Saxons set up roadblocks, antitank ditches, forward observation posts, bunkers and hundreds of well-coordinated and located fighting positions helped by the ruins that the Wankan Air Force had decided to create. In addition to this, thousands of local Saxons were being organized into poorly-trained, lightly armed but well motivated militia battalions, which included enthusiastic fourteen year olds to their sixty year old grandpas. The Wankan response to the local resistance was forceful. Soldiers adopted a shoot-first and ask questions later approach when confronting civilians in house-to-house combat, with high-ranking officers turning a blind eye to mass executions of suspected "armed guerrilla elements" in the Wankan rear.

Sonneborn was seemingly pleased with the "progress" and the high casualty reports that were coming in. Apparently, to him that proved that his General Staff was fighting now, instead of manoeuvring the units around uselessly. The 12th Füsiliers was busy getting its regiments rubbed down to company size while in the north, the 13th Wankan Füsiliers and the 5th Panzer attempted to breakthrough at Klotzsche so as to threaten the vital bridges on Weser to the north and the city center to the south. From elsewhere around the front, regiments were diluted to provide reinforcements to the brutal fighting in Dresden; there, in face of long lines of solid trenches and fortifications, the divisions were ordered to hunker down and protect against any League attack.

Three days had passed and the casualties were entering into the fifth digit. League air forces, up to now maintaining a largely minor presence, were gaining the upper hand after inflicting staggering losses on Wankan ground-attack aircraft but by now already half the city lay in ruins. The 13th Füsiliers finally captured Klotzsche, with still numerous pockets of Saxon strongholds holding out. Nevertheless, it did push southward toward the city center, forcing Sylvan units at Cotta to withdraw from their positions toward the city itself. This was when shit really got real, and the thousands of League troops, including two Sylvan brigades and several Saxon regiments, didn't have any intent leaving any time soon. The practically destroyed 12th Füsiliers was replaced by the 15th in its place, and with fresh troops in place, the maddest of all fighting began.

For the next few days consecutively, day and night, around the clock, machine guns rattled, grenades exploded, windows shattered. Artillery on both sides pounded rubble to rubble, with both Air Forces joining in the party. Innocent civilians were not spared, caught in the cross-fire between two insane forces. The success of the Wankan advance was measured in meters taken, only to be beaten back by determined enemy counterattacks. Fires raged and soldiers and civilians alike were poisoned to death by the released carbon monoxide as they fought vicious house-to-house combat within the houses themselves. Close quarter combat had become the norm, with high-powered submachine guns quickly being distributed to the foot soldiers to replace the ubiquitous G-74s. Exhausted Wankan soldiers diligently cleared room by room, from the kitchen to the toilets. The underground sewage system was repeatedly attacked by Wankan engineers to seal off that entrance for assault. The divisions consisted now only of ad-hoc battle groups from a mix of various decimated units. Total chaos could be found in the command system on the Wankan side, where the fighting was slowly degenerating into an every-man (and woman)-for-himself fight. For both sides, the battle became demoralizing with no end in sight, at least for the Wankers. Nevertheless, they continued to push on, completely surrounding the city center by the end of the month, pushing into Loschwitz and Blasewitz. In the north, the river Weser was reached, with Wankan paratroopers quickly seizing the bridges and occupying the river bank opposite, stopping the closest link between League forces north and south of the river. But this came at a great cost. Over 15,000 Wankan combat soldiers were lying dead and wounded, in addition to hundreds of vehicles and aircraft. And the number would continue to increase.

For on the League side, the High Command had planned a little surprise for Sonneborn. Warnings from behind-the-lines agents and squads were shrugged off as the Wankan army continued in its slugfest on Dresdens streets. At the same time, the Wankan Fifth Army was engaged in a mobile tank battle in the Lower Seine Valley. Neither side seemed to gain an advantage yet, with attacks quickly thrown back by counterattacks, each side taking turns to move forward while being content with maintaining and returning to the original defensive positions.

 **April 4th-April 10th, Day 24-30**

Despite increasing amounts of actionable intelligence, the commander of the Wankan 18th Füsiliers was not informed of the League military build-up across his thinly-held sector. The 18th Division was holding a sixty-kilometer long stretch along the relatively silent central front, with each of its understrength mechanized infantry regiments having to protect twenty kilometers each. In the past week they had been given the chance to build a solid number of fortifications to protect their lines, but as the battle for Dresden wore on, more and more units were rushed to the city to provide quick reinforcements to compensate for the losses there. Of its original two hundred tanks, barely a hundred were operational. Thus it came as no surprise to those in the High Command when the League struck with its full force there.

The fresh Sylvan 24th Armored Cavalry Regiment, held up to now in reserve, lead the charge alongside the Saxon 9th Armored, which had been refitted after suffering heavy losses in the Cottbus salient. Without an initial artillery bombardment to maintain the element of surprise, the League Trojan II's smashed into the 18th's defences in a concentrated attack. Wankan Panzers in comfortable hull-down positions sitting in defensible positions were given a nasty surprise when the accurate gunnery by the Sylvan tank crews sent turrets flying into the air. Trenches and bunkers were swiftly overwhelmed and overrun in a repeat of the 4th Panzer-Divisions actions, just this time from the opposite side. Overhead, the League used its newly gained aerial advantage to send tank-hunting choppers overhead, which annihilated Wankan armor formations rushing in to stop the advance. Within hours, the 24th ACR had broken through Wankan lines, followed closely by the 9th Armored. Saxon reserve regiments piled into the gap, along with the Sylvan 17th Armored Brigade Combat Team.

A huge salient was formed in the central Saxon front, and the 18th and 17th Füsiliers to the south were in no position to close it. The Wankan response was too slow, and too late, being too concentrated on seizing the Saxon capital. The Sylvans were not content with creating a troubling salient, however, and instead rushed straight and nearly unopposed toward the Weser. The 16th Füsiliers, rushed in piecemeal fashion to hold open the gap, had its battalions destroyed one by one.

It took the Sylvans barely forty eight hours to encircle the Second Army in and around Dresden, trapping nearly 90,000 Wankan troops within it. On the southern front, the League took advantage of the Wankan Air Force' decreasing ability to defend its air space to finally launch a long-awaited offensive, sending the 22nd and 24th Füsilier Divisions into retreat. The tide of the war had turned.

The situation had turned into one of utter desperation. The Second Army had successfully fought their way through and captured most of the capital, with organized Sylvan and Saxon resistance being pushed toward outlying townships in Schönfeld, Leuben and Loschwitz. Pockets of Saxons continued to resist within the city itself as long as ammunition lasted for them, which made coordinating rearguard movements and logistics difficult enough without having the entire army cut off. Frontline units were already running low on ammunition and the encirclement threatened to force them to rely on bayonets and bare fists to continue the fight. Not that those methods hadn't been used.

Even with nearly all of Dresden in ruins, most of the city rendered uninhabitable, Sonneborn wouldn't let go. The General Staff was actively pushing for a pullout of the Second Army from Dresden and to put a halt to the operation which most had deemed suicidal in the first place. With Dresden bombed to ruins by both sides, there was quite literally _no point_ at all in capturing it, other than for propaganda and symbolic purposes which Sonneborn was so bent upon achieving. But even the value of that was quickly dropping, now that all the troops rushed into Dresden were now being squashed into the Weser. The General Staff was pushing for a breakout from within the Dresden pocket and an encircling manoeuvre by the 7th Panzer Division to capture the Sylvan encircling forces themselves. Sonneborn wasn't willing to relent, insisting instead on using the two armored divisions brought in from the southern front to achieve the breakthrough and to cut up the encircling forces to push them back, thus allowing the continued offensive and clean-up operations in Dresden to continue.

While Sonneborn was quarrelling with virtually the entire General Staff and his cabinet, the situation in Dresden continued to worsen. Constant firing, explosions and deadly flying debris and red-hot metal along with choking smoke and the stench of death and decay was quickly exhausting the soldiers on the front physically and mentally. It was impossible to sleep in houses whose roofs might cave in at any second. Living in a state of near constant fear of the possibility of dying any second was slowly causing the collapse of the trapped Wankan forces. It was the same for the thousands of Saxon and Sylvan troops surrounded in their own tiny strongholds, but they, the Saxons at least, were fighting on their own ground, for the future of their friends and families. The mass atrocities committed by the Wankan soldiers toward Saxon civilians further hardened their resolve. Desertions to the Wankan military had become a rarity, and even the activities of partisan groups behind enemy lines was weakening in effectivity.

 _What's the point of all this?_ grumbled Katsnaroff to himself, the tank commander now without a tank, as he stumbled absent-mindedly through the rubble, kicking away several glass shards. A mortar shell whistled and landed in a nearby house, a glass shard cutting into his arm. Katsnaroff didn't even flinch. Unlike most Wankan soldiers and officers, he had been around long enough to get used to living on the frontlines and intimately knew the realities of war. This didn't stop him from being deeply affected by the dozens of comrades he'd lost, some of them right before his eyes. And the whole thing, he had known from the start, was _absolutely pointless_. Not that it was completely Sonneborn's fault, that cursed bastard, it included the Saxon duke and De La Calle, all of them engaged in the bloody game of power and politics. It was all about power, all about respect and might and ego, all money with the human factor simply flung out of the window. He didn't blame the Sylvan soldiers, many of whom probably had little motivation to fight on what was in actuality Wankan land.

The fear of dying had completely left him. All what he was focused on, day by day, was the monotonous fight for survival. Scavenging destroyed homes for food and clean water which his own military couldn't provide. Finding a place to sleep in, where locals wouldn't stab him during the night and the ceiling wouldn't collapse. During the day, locating his battalion commander, whichever replaced the one who had been killed the day before, and eliminating the next Saxon holdout. At the same time, ignoring the dead, mutilated bodies of Saxon soldiers, Wankan soldiers and everyday civilians who lay strewn across the streets. The temporary field hospitals were overflowing with the wounded, so much that at times Saxon prisoners were shot on the spot due to the Wankans being unable to provide for them, instead opting to have them labeled as killed-in-combat. Katsnaroff himself had visited a hospital and had seen the hopeless cases wheeled outside where some poor private would have to put a bullet in his head to end the suffering. That was also when the hospital was struck by the Sylvan Air Force, despite it being clearly marked to be visible from above. In retaliation, the Wankan Air Force bombed Sylvan hospitals. Sometimes the rules of war were hard to maintain. Nevertheless, chemical warfare was notably absent, despite proponents on each side pushing for their use. Sarin, TX, chlorine and whatever else stayed locked in their safe compartments in home barracks. Even though it would've proven helpful for the Second Army, whose situation was getting more desperate by the hour. The League put all its effort in delaying the movement of the armored divisions designated for the breakout, with destroyed bridges and bombed up railways helping in stopping the 7th and 8th Panzer-Divisions from moving to the front. Supplies were brought in under heavy guard by the Weser river itself, although more often than not the transports were sunk, in addition to a fragile air bridge which was proven vulnerable to League air superiority fighters. The Second Army was collapsing, there was no doubt about it, and Sonneborn was edging ever closer to a peaceful resolution of the conflict. He knew that only time would tell when it would surrender, and that would be a political catastrophe. The Aemen were already setting terms for a peace treaty, and the Sylvans, too, seemed ready to negotiate.

Meanwhile, news of the League successes were not withheld from the press. The mood of the Wankan population turned from one of silent depression and anger into one of complete alarm, which Sonneborn promptly took advantage of. With the constitution barring him from reintroducing conscription, it was an imperative that active measures were taken to contain the Sylvan advance in the south. What he hadn't expected and wasn't prepared for was the degree of panic that gripped the Wankan population as dark memories of the Black War and the following decades of chaos were reinvoked. Millions fled the war in the south, joining Saxon refugees as they jammed the roads full on their way to the western coast or the northeast. Sonneborn's constant blaring on all media channels warning of an impending "total war" did little to help them. His recruitment efforts were rewarded, however, with the ranks of the Volksgrenadier battalions filling up. Reserves, having been activated for quite some time now, were finally dispatched to the frontlines although their deployment was hampered by the streams of Wankan and Saxon refugees fleeing the opposite way. The main concern for them was Hessen and Wiesbaden, with the Sylvan 12th and 32nd Infantry Brigades closing in on the strategically important logistical center and a vital industrial and communications region. Sonneborn had made it clear, despite constantly weakening their position by drawing units to the Saxon front, that Hessen was not to fall. Its capture had the ability to completely destroy the war effort and force Wanka into yet another humiliating peace treaty, and that was not to happen. The Fifth Army was ordered to protect it at all costs and await reserve units which would help relieve the pressure. Little did the General Staff know that they were overseeing a crucial weakness in Wankan lines yet again…

 **April 11th-April 17th, Day 31-37**

Sonneborn still believed he had the upper hand, the commander of the 11th Füsilier-Division, as part of the First Army, thought. Maybe I can give it to him. Hasso Röder had been initially sidelined by Sonneborn after his "dangerous adventures" with the 4th Panzer, but their relationship was improving as it dawned upon Sonneborn that Röder's actions had helped him out a lot. General der Füsiliere Heinz Cüstrin felt that he had no choice. Sitting in his command Schützenpanzer, he nodded at his radio operator. The 7th Panzer Division would not be able to launch the breakthrough in time. First Army was the beleaguered force' only hope. Both the 10th and the 11th Füsiliers, as part of the First Army, were holding a long, defensible line north of the Weser. For the past week, here, too, did only the occasional tank battle and artillery duel take place as neither side truly attempted to dislodge the other from their excellent defensive positions.

This was about to change. With a Sylvan brigade moved to fight in Dresden, the Saxon lines here were relatively thin. Opposing the entrance to Chemnitz were only roughly two regiments, or so they hoped. On the front, Oberleutnant Darmietzel watched with satisfaction as a Saxon Trojan was disabled by his shot.

 _"Sprenggranate laden. Nächste Ziel, die Schützengräben um drei Uhr."_ ("Load HE. Next target, trenches at three o'clock.") he ordered. The tank fired on the move, sending a shell slamming into the enemy earthworks. An artillery shell detonated into the ground close by. Dismounted Füsiliers lead the assault, hurling grenades into the trenches before forcing their way in. From behind, supported by the two divisions' artillery and tanks, the infantry advanced stubbornly. They advanced determinedly, overwhelming layer after layer of Saxon defences, until the enemy was forced into a steady retreat into Chemnitz. Cüstrin didn't allow the division to stop, instead, he ordered both divisions to move straight for the city before the Saxons were allowed to set up solid defensive positions. Unlike in the assault at Dresden, Cüstrin explicitly forbade heavy artillery strikes on the city and warned the Air Force not to strike Saxon positions within it. The population here was a mix of ethnic Sylvans and Wankers. Cüstrin saw the mistake of antagonizing both groups; he'd made it clear that civilians were to be protected, not harmed. Even if they wouldn't fight on their side, at least they wouldn't fight against the invaders.

Which was also why Darmietzel held his fire as he entered the city. Ahead of him, freshly brought in reinforcements to replace the initial assault troop lead the way, methodically clearing street after street. And throughout, Darmietzel kept his large 125mm cannon silent, instead opting to use the coaxial machine gun to cover the ground troops. He did shatter several windows as he ran a stream of bullets against a suspected sniper position, but at least it wasn't stone-hard rubble. The streets were nicely clear and wide enough to allow for tanks and armored vehicles to pass through, unlike in Dresden.

 _"PASSEN SIE AUF, EIN PANZER!"_ a shout came through his radio, presumably a Füsilier captain. They had destroyed dozens of Saxon tanks on the way to the city, and so it came as a surprise when one turned a corner. The gunner reflexively fired the loaded shell at the enemy Trojan I. It was a high-explosive shell, however, and that simply detonated the reactive armor on the enemy tank who, in return, fired. The Panzer-90 shook tremendously as the shell smashed into the gun mantle, but it went no further. Darmietzel checked his electronic system, to find out, to his relief, that only the automated turret controls were damaged. He had an armor piercing shell loaded this time, but the Saxon tank pulled back, its machine-guns keeping the infantry's heads down, behind the corner from which it came from. His shell came a split second too late, flying into a house opposite. Darmietzel fixed the turret in the right position as he ordered his driver to give chase. Running alongside was a company of Füsiliers from his regiment. The company commander promised to distract the Trojan, and soon his troops swarmed into the street. The Trojan's machine gun opened fire again, with the company soldiers sending automatic rifle fire pinging off the Sylvan steel. An anti-tank Panzerfaust RPG was brought up, which was quickly detected by the Trojan commander. Seeing the danger, he fired off the main gun, literally tearing apart the Wankan anti-tank team.

 _"Es hat gefeuert, kommen sie 'raus."_ ("It has fired, come out.") the Wankan captain said in a shocked voice as he reviewed what was left of his antitank platoon.

 _"Verstanden."_ replied Darmietzel. His turret, now manually turned perpendicular to the chassis, was ready to fire. The tank moved out, coming to a shaking halt with the reversing Trojan in its crosshairs.

 _"Feuer."_ The shell whistled through the air and tore noisily through the enemy tank.

 _"Nachladen! Panzerbrechend!"_ ("Reload! Armor piercing!") he ordered as he checked whether the enemy vehicle was still operational. It appeared not to be, with two of its surviving crew climbing out. The Füsilier company laid down suppressing fire on the crew and moved forward, Darmietzel's tank close behind. Surprisingly, the fighting for Chemnitz lasted barely a day and only too late did the Sylvan High Command realize what Cüstrin had done. Sonneborn and the General Staff had barely complained, instead praising his swift and well-timed decision. Troops, doctors and thousands of trucks were brought to the First Army and as expected, Cüstrin's objective was reached after three days when his leading tanks made contact with the bridgeheads across the Weser which were up to now desperately held onto by the Second Army. But this wasn't as simple as it seemed. The League had air power, artillery and divers held ready, which they unleashed on the bridges across which the Second Army was using to evacuate to the north. A second battle of military engineers versus the League air forces began.

Just as Sonneborn thought he had rescued the situation, the Sylvan 4th Infantry Division in the south gave him a nasty surprise. Instead of heading straight for Hessen, the Sylvans broke the defences north of the city and went straight for Zwickau. Virtually unopposed, Zwickau and its vital airfield were taken on the 15th of April, severing perhaps the second most important supply artery to Wankan forces in Saxony. In addition, the airfield gave them practically air supremacy over both the Saxon and the southern fronts. Thousands of trucks and trains carrying tons of basic supplies were captured throughout the day by rampaging Sylvan forces, thus effectively paralyzing the Wankan logistical system. Attack choppers based in Zwickau, with the help of ground troops, completely obliterated the 7th Panzer-Division sent to launch a counterattack. However, the Sylvans knew that their position of supremacy wasn't going to last; the southern front was extremely long, the supply line to Zwickau was equally long and only time would tell until the Wankan Army could mass reserves and militia troops to throw them back in a bloody battle of attrition. In Dresden, while League troops took their turn to clear the city of defending Wankans, they were confronted with shocking scenes of destruction. The Second Army was still practically trapped in a small pocket, but the League was running out of troops, and capturing the Second was becoming an impossibility. Sonneborn, meanwhile, had some 150 million Wankers panicking with a non-functioning logistics system both at home and on the fronts. It seemed as though both sides had come to a practical stalemate, and both sides, on the battlefields and at home, were getting tired and sick of the war whose reasons and purpose nobody really could comprehend.

On the tenth, a general ceasefire was agreed upon for the 18th, with Sonneborn giving in and accepting the Aemen invitation to Erus. The ceasefire worked both ways. It gave the Second Army time to recuperate and evacuate north of the Weser, thus keeping some five divisions worth of troops active who would otherwise end up in captivity. The Sylvans used the situation to send in reinforcements to the endangered southern front, in addition to fortifying Zwickau and its airfield to maintain the bulging salient for as long as possible. Fighting quickly died down on both sides even before the ceasefire came into effect, neither side provoking or attempting to take advantage of it. Finally, on the early morning of the 18th of April, after 38 days since the start of the conflict, the artillery guns went silent and soldiers on both sides collapsed in relief.


	18. A Fragile Conclusion

Instrumental  
May right and freedom be granted  
To Wanka, our Fatherland.  
All the people long for peace  
Rise, Wankan civilization!  
From the Verga to the Eile,  
From the Allgäu to the Seine,  
Let us stand united together,  
That no foe ever dares,  
To hurt our people  
To hurt our people

Let us work, let us plough  
Labour like never before  
That the old Wankan culture  
once again stands tall and proud!  
Let us focus all our strength  
To build a great, new realm  
Let us care for our holy land  
So that dear Sunna  
Over Wanka smiles  
Over Wanka smiles.

 **Gert Room  
Taivin Castle  
Erus  
12th April  
11:09AM**

"We're preparing everything now, Your Highness. We've sent cars to King Aldert Airport to collect the Chancellor and the First Minister, they should arrive for talks within the hour. In the meantime, our joint teams at the Ministries of Relation and Initiative have drafted this." said Ingrid Ockers, a secretary at the Royal Office working for the Branch of Prince Ivan. He handed his employer the draft of peace proposals, which Ivan had a large hand in and proceeded to give the Prince some space. Ivan was stood facing the window, letting the light from the fresh morning pour in over the room. He'd chosen Taivin Castle for the peace talks to happen as it was probably one of the only impressive buildings in Erus that wasn't used at some point for military purposes. Taivin was a place for intellectuals, scientists, philosophers, politicians, engineers and doctors, and the monarchs of the past had respected that. Unlike Olbridge Castle, which was built with the original purpose of training a eugenically perfect race of Aemen children in the 1400s, Taivin Castle was used to store the city's food supply in the middle ages and would later become the home of the Heer cultural resurgence in the 18th century. These days, it's the headquarters of the monarchy-backed think tank, the Reginald Future Foundation.

Ivan looked over the proposals, smiling. All had been prepared and was leading to this moment, this sit-down with the two men who were at each others' throats. There was of course room for both men to offer up their own suggestions to the proposals and that's what the Prince was counting on; a chance to introduce more Aemen influence over the negotiations. The Prince closed the document and looked out over the city of Erus before turning and moving to the centre of the room, where three comfy armchairs arranged around a coffee table was laying in wait for the negotiations. On the table, a stack of papers containing information and statistics about the Saxon War since it began stood without motion, their terrible facts intended to be Ivan's extra 'punch' to Sonneborn and De La Calle. Beside it, an assortment of bottles of whiskey, brandy and wine with three glasses - all punches need their pain relief afterwards.

Ivan sat down, taking his place at the table and having one last look through the draft that could soon become the start of his ducal coronation.

 **CEASEFIRE MEASURES OF THE SAXON WAR**

 **Murovanka will -**  
Withdraw all military and intelligence personnel and vehicles from within Saxony's borders and cease hostilities against Sylvan military personnel and Saxon military personnel and citizens.  
Order all militant allies within Saxony's borders to stand down and desist and will support said allies in taking that action.  
Release all prisoners of war belonging to Sylva, the Organised States and other members of the Septentrion League and return them safely to their native countries.  
Cease all provocative rhetoric concerning the future of Wanko-Saxons.

 **Sylva will -**  
Withdraw all military and intelligence personnel and vehicles from within Saxony's borders.  
Order all allies within Saxony's borders to stand down and withdraw as well and will support said allies in taking that action.  
Release all prisoners of war belonging to Murovanka and return them safely to their native country.  
Withdraw all military and intelligence personnel and vehicles from within Wankan borders and cease hostilities against Wankan military personnel.

 **Aemen will -**  
Ensure both sides are held to the conditions of their ceasefire agreement and establish a temporary military presence within Saxony to oversee deconstruction of all hostilities and assist where necessary.

 **AFTERMATH MEASURES OF THE SAXON WAR AND THE TRANSITIONAL DETERRENT FORCE**

King Reginald II will sign into existence the Transitional Deterrent Force, a tri-nation organisation formed by Murovanka, Sylva and headed by Aemen's Prince Ivan which will oversee the interim period from the end of the Saxon War to its new government.

 **To that end, the TDF will -**  
Establish a temporary regime and organise a nationwide referendum over the entirety of Saxony to decide on the future of their nation's government. The question will be -

 **'What type of government should Saxony become?** '

The options of the referendum will be -

 **Remain a Duchy with a constitutional monarch as head of state  
Change to a republic  
Follow the Wankan system of government  
**  
The nationwide referendum will not proceed so long as militant factions threaten the integrity of Saxony. The Transitional Deterrent Force will have full authority over all Saxon matters including executive powers for the period it is established and will be capable of deploying troops to maintain internal peace if necessary. To avoid exacerbation of political and ethnic groups within Saxony, TDF military personnel will be predominantly provided by Aemen, as will its civilian employees and civil servants. All Saxon government officials, military officers and soldiers will be temporarily suspended from their roles to allow them to participate in the referendum. Murovanka and Sylva will provide personnel to oversee efforts in areas of Saxony where their respective cultures and ethnicities are more prominent than others.

The cameras began flashing as the Luftwanka aircraft, carrying Wankan chancellor Heinrich Sonneborn and his entourage, touched down. For over twenty four hours, no shot had been fired all along the war fronts, yet up in the air, a storm was brewing. Reporters and journalists were braving the strong winds to tell the world of this historic meeting. Amongst them Wankan and Sylvan journalists, each spreading their own respective propaganda agendas in their countries. Yet today, they were filmed greeting and shaking hands, and sharing a joke or two- it was obvious that they were both relieved of the arrival of what could be the end of the monthlong war which had claimed so many lives.

The stony-faced chancellor wasted no time on the tarmac. Quickly followed by foreign minister von Preisen, two other senior officials and six KKK bodyguards, he climbed into the cars that Prince Ivan had laid ready. The cars sped off to Taivin Castle. Only half an hour later, Sylvan First Minister Stephen de la Calle did the same. At the castle, stiff greetings were exchanged between the two leaders, reporters commenting excitedly on their rather cold facial expressions as they disappeared into the conference room. Meanwhile, outside, the Wankan and Sylvan missions waited, papers at ready and prepared to contact home for anything in case their leader came out for assistance.

Sonneborn began almost immediately without giving Prince Ivan a chance to start the introduction.

"The first and foremost condition for peace," he began in flawless, loud and clear english, while staring into the eyes of de la Calle, "is that Sylva, on behalf of the Septentrion League, takes responsibility and apologizes for starting the war and pledges not to undertake any more aggression toward the People's Republic. It was Sylva that inducted Saxony, a state robbed off Wanka half a century ago, into the League so that it could offensively deploy military assets to invade Wanka. It was Sylva and the League that started the war with an aggressive and illegal first strike on Wanka, and it was Sylvan troops which first stepped foot on Wankan soil. The suffering that the people of Wanka had to endure due to the Sylvan war of aggression, has been immense. However, we recognize the need for enduring peace and stability on the continent and to ensure mutual understanding and respect for each other, we only demand a meagre $100 billion NSD in war reparations."

De La Calle remained calm, staying firmly in his seat in contrast to the Wankan chancellor who was nearly shouting. His demands were as expected, and Sylva was willing to concede that.

"The League will admit to precipitating the war by launching preemptive first strikes due to threatening Wankan behaviour." the First Minister responded, "but we will not bow to the senseless 'war reparations' demand of yours. The only nation that deserves reparations would be Saxony, and Sylva would only be too willing to provide the funds to help rebuild it."

"Wanka will, too." Sonneborn replied, not further pressing his request. He had heard what he wanted to hear.

Ivan watched the two leaders exchange their diplomatic styles, impressed with how De La Calle handled the loud Sonneborn's sudden demands. The Prince reached over the table, picking up a bottle of the brandy and a glass to contain it, before pouring himself a few drops. "I'm glad we're finding common ground so quickly. It's important that we're able to do so because it means we are genuinely dedicated to ending this without losing more lives, but you both know that anyway."

Ivan positioned the document that held the Ceasefire and Aftermath Measures in front of him, resting his hands on top of it. "Now, if you're happy with the current state of the ceasefire terms, with that new addition made by you Mr. De La Calle, then we can move on to the aftermath, which will be somewhat trickier. I think we're all in agreement when I say that the conflict has stoked tensions in Saxony to an incredibly high point and the subsequent loss of most of its standing professional army means that we, as Saxony's neighbours, will have to intervene and prevent the country from collapsing under its wounds and the exploitive nature of opportunists. What I'm asking, gentlemen, is if you are prepared to accept the Transitional Deterrent Force, the conditions of its creation and recognise it as the interim executive body in Saxony until such time a referendum is organised and completed."

"The League welcomes the Aemen offer and recognizes the necessity of such a force." responded De La Calle. Aemen was in good ties with Sylva- why should they object? Wanka, on the other hand, had their reasons to be suspicious, and that not only because of their conflict over the Sellenland. It was supposed to be a trinational force, and they were permitted to deploy troops to Wankan-majority areas, so on the surface it seemed like an OK deal.

In addition, the Aemen ground supply line ran through Wankan territory. Sonneborn believed that if he wanted to and if the Aemen broke some agreement, he could simply cut their forces off from the mainland.

"I have just one request: that a date be set for the referendum and the expiration of the mandate of the TDF over Saxony. The referendum should take place and the transition to the new government, if necessary, take place by the end of this month, April. The TDF's mandate will end two weeks after the referendum is held. The TDF, regardless of the developments on the ground, will disband by the 1st of June."

Ivan didn't flinch at Sonneborn's request; he knew that even though one month was enough time to secure most of Saxony's private assets for himself, usurping the title of duke would take a little longer and the TDF's lifespan was an essential part of the Prince's plan, as was the outcome of the referendum it was created to facilitate. "One month is an incredibly short amount of time, Chancellor. The logistics of simply moving troops into Saxony will take two weeks at least, setting up the voting centres for the referendum and ensuring stability throughout the nation will be a time-consuming process. It's better to take a longer amount of time and do the job right as opposed to doing it as quickly as possible and leaving Saxony in a half-democratic and politically unstable mess."

Ivan placed his hand on the stack of papers next to him, containing statistics from the war. "I haven't even mentioned all the displaced and the refugees we will have to resettle by the deadline to ensure as many Saxons as possible get a voice in the future of their country. I'm asking you to consider three months maximum as the alternative, Chancellor. That way, we can ensure there are no extreme elements remaining in Saxony, its citizens are resettled and safe and its alternatives to Duke Mattin and the Council are presented clearly with as much information as possible."

De La Calle nodded in agreement. "A month for such a large and important operation is unrealistic. We have millions of refugees in both our nations, and they all need to be given a chance to return to their country. And not only that," he added, "they will need to be fed and given shelter. We're talking about one of the most difficult humanitarian operations on Casaterra that will have to be carried out."

"Which is your fault, De La Calle. If I could have it my way, you would be standing trial in an international war crimes tribunal." replied Sonneborn. "However, the point is valid. Two and a half months should be more than enough. Can we agree that the TDF expires on the 1st of July?"

Ivan nodded with a smile. It was less time than he'd wanted, but enough to work with. He knew to push Sonneborn for any further extension on the TDF would result in the Wankan leader throwing his toys out of the pram, so to speak. "Thank you Chancellor, the 1st of July should be plenty of time and I intend to keep you both informed of our progress once my father has officiated the Force's creation. After that, I request you send in proposals to me for District Commanders in Saxony for the areas we've agreed to place under your respective control, they'll act as your ambassadors to me as well as commanding officers for your stationed troops. I'll be shuffling them as well as Aemen officials into the TDF's command structure by the end of the week."

Ivan sipped again from his glass, happy with the meeting's outcome and producing a fountain pen from his jacket's breast pocket. "Now, if you're both content with the conditions and the new additions to them, then I believe all that is left is for you both to sign the Ceasefire and Aftermath Measures alongside my own signature. It will be sent immediately to Olbridge Castle from here, where my father will then give royal assent to the TDF's creation bill in conjunction with this one."

Ivan held out the pen to Sonneborn first, aware that getting his writing onto the paper was the biggest hurdle. "Chancellor, if you'd be so kind."

Sonneborn took the pen into his hand, looking warily at the pair in front of him- that's how he saw it. It was clearly no three-way talk; this was both of them against him, that much was obvious. But with the Sylvan leaders' clearly restrained presentation today, he felt he could push for more. The Wankan chancellor carefully placed the pen on the table.

"This treaty needs to ensure peace on the Casaterran continent once and for all, and this it is still far from satisfactory for Wanka. We recognize the complex mechanisms and power players involved, however, and as such will keep our demands to the minimum."

"For one, regardless of the outcome of the referendum, we would like a pledge from Aemen and Sylva that Saxony, in whatever form it may be, will not be drawn into a military alliance of any kind, whether it may be defensive and offensive. Wanka, too, will pledge not to deploy troops or any offensive weaponry to Saxony in case the people decide to accede to it. Saxony shall become a peaceful, demilitarized buffer zone, if you will.

"Furthermore, Wanka will formally annex the western Saxon salient centered around Zwickau into Wanka. This is in consideration for our security, as Zwickau is barely an hours drive away from our main industrial center in Hessen. Wanka has lived in constant fear for decades from a possible enemy attack into such a vulnerable area in the Wankan heartland and for peace to be enduring, the Wankan people need to feel secure in their homeland. In contrast, only under five hundred thousand people inhabit that portion of Saxony; they will be given open, unhindered access to the rest of Saxony and will be able to retain their citizenship.

"With Zwickau an open city, it would be beneficial to both sides for the betterment of future relations and improved interconnection between our estranged peoples. If these basic conditions are not met, Wanka cannot assure that peace will last for long in our part of the world."

The Prince leaned in, listening to Sonneborn's words. Calm as he was, Ivan grated his teeth behind closed lips; the Chancellor's demands were beginning to get on his nerves. He cracked a half-smile, admiring the Chancellor's use of his people's fears, real or not, to try and sway the meeting. "Forgive me, Chancellor, but I do believe that having Wanka annex part of Saxony will send a mixed message. At the moment, we are deciding on the nation's future with the intention to give it back to its people, were we to suddenly start dividing up and occupying different parts of it for security purposes, despite the fact we will have all pledged not to deploy troops to Saxony for the purpose of maintaining peace, then it becomes a slippery slope in the eyes of the international community and the Saxons themselves. Whilst I am in support of something of a buffer zone that you describe, I find your second request incredibly difficult to accommodate, despite the benefits the citizens of Zwickau and its outlying area will still be given."

Ivan took a quick glance at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room, checking the time, before going back to the Chancellor. "However, I never like sour negotiations and I consider myself a gracious host, so I propose, for the area in question, that the TDF runs a separate sub-referrendum to decide whether the population of Zwickau truly wants to join Wanka, with all advantages you mentioned, Chancellor. To ensure the vote isn't manipulated at the last minute, the count will be held alongside the main one at the TDF's temporary headquarters in Dresden. I hope you find that satisfactory, Chancellor."

The Wankan leader smiled back. "If only our Kaiser could have said the same at Hessen, Prince Ivan. Think about it for a second. An entire state forcefully separated from its motherland. Billions in war reparations which destroyed the Wankan economy. All colonies- stripped. All we ask for, now, is to be given back a fraction of what had been taken. I'd say it is not we who are not accommodating, it is not I who is 'souring' the discussion."

"You do not understand," Sonneborn's face grew tenser, "what this is about. Hessen and its surroundings are home to over five million Wankans and accounts for the single most valuable economic zone feeding much of the country. Yet it is vulnerable to be taken hostage by foreign players... vulnerable to the war hawks of the Septentrion Leagues, vulnerable to the missiles of a possibly hostile nation-state. The same situation is not faced by Sylva, who have hundreds of kilometers of Saxony, mountains plus vast grasslands until we meet something of value.

"We're looking for a peaceful solution, are we not? This will only be obtained by leveling the strategic playing field that the League has tried so hard to destroy. Until then, as long as guns have to be deployed on the borders, such peace will not exist and the threat of war will still exist for generations to come.

"I will agree to the separate referendum including the direct accession option for the Zwickau districts. However, regardless of the outcome, I request that the district come under nominal Wankan control, essentially only including the presence of border guards and spectator positions in the administration. Whichever government is chosen will be allowed to operate freely and Wankan forces will not interfere, as long as their status, rights and the security of Wanka is not threatened. I believe that this is an acceptable compromise for all sides."

Ivan cradled his chin with his thumb and index finger as Sonneborn continued his speech. All the talk of snatching states and economic downfall was tempting the Prince to make a comment about the Sellenland. However, Ivan knew better and Sonneborn's rage would pale in comparison to his father's wrath, should he behave in such a manner. "Thank goodness we no longer live in such times, Chancellor. I would have thought we'd have moved past the attitudes of what we once were, Aemen was once the centre of a glorious aspiring empire as well under my ancestors, an empire built on the corpse of every enemy soldier and oiled with their blood. However, those times are gone, long gone, and diplomacy has taken the place from war as the prime tool for solving disputes."

"I must admit, Chancellor, I am somewhat perplexed as to your demands. I'm sure Mr. De La Calle is open to the idea of a demilitarised Saxony, as am I, and we would be more than happy to agree to such a term. However, you then go on to say that, after this measure is put in place, Wanka would be vulnerable to the League's antagonisations. Would this happen to be an issue of trust when it comes to the League's leadership on keeping to their word?"

Ivan sighed, finishing off the last of his glass of whiskey. "In any case, your idea of a minimum amount of Wankan influence in the Zwickau region is moderate enough for me to support. As long as the Saxon government, whatever it becomes, maintains its independence in domestic matters, then I see no dire issues arising in the near future. Mr. De La Calle, what do you say?"

"So it seems, Prince Ivan, but the League hasn't seemed to learn that. With the repeated intentional undermining of the Wankan nation, and with the most recent war they've caused- we were not the ones who launched that bizarre first strike- I'd say that our fears are more than justified." Sonneborn commented, before sitting back to await the Sylvan ministers' response.

De La Calle looked visibly uncomfortable, having to face, what in his opinion was an extremely un-diplomatic barrage of accusations from Sonneborn who barely seemed to acknowledge his existence. Nevertheless, he did come to Erus to look for a solution to the longstanding conflict, and he was well aware that compromises would have to be made.

"I will agree to the minimal Wankan presence, but only on this condition." The First Minister pointed at the map, at the land route through Wanka that would be supplying the TDF. He knew that Sonneborn believed himself to hold leverage over the TDF; in case it stepped out of its jurisdiction or mandate, or otherwise did something which threatened himself and Wanka, he thought he could easily cut the TDF off and force it to surrender. "Until the TDF's mandate expires, Sylva will hold the stretch of Wankan land in the Cloysteric Highlands lying between Sylva and the TDF supply route." Essentially, this would mean that the TDF route would be the new border for the time being, and if Sonneborn tried anything provoking, he would also have to deal with angry COSAF soldiers standing armed and ready on the other side of the road.

Sonneborn shook his head. "That amounts to illegal, unjustified occupation of our lands. We cannot permit that. You're in no good position to negotiate, I have over a million reinforcements moving in on your troops..."

"... half of which the League will have put out of action before you reach Sylvan borders." the First Minister finished. "Our troops are in Zwickau and are commanding a damn good position, and you know it, Sonneborn. In addition, we have the entire Seine Valley in our hands, and could grab Schwaben any time we want to. But enough of that," he said firmly, as Sonneborn was clearly looking to interrupt,"we have come to look for a peaceful solution, and this we will not arrive at with senseless threats and comparisons of how many men we're willing to throw to their deaths. Consider our offer. We will peacefully pull back within the next three months, Sylva has little interest in keeping those territories."

The Wankan chancellor seemed taken aback by the sudden surge of words by the as of yet quiet First Minister, but he quickly recovered. "On the condition that League forces completely pull out within a week after the TDF's mandate expires. If this doesn't happen, we will treat the presence of Sylvan troops on Wankan soil as a direct invasion."

Ivan scratched his chin as the two leaders had their first direct negotiation with each other, as opposed to himself speaking on behalf of De La Calle to Sonneborn. "We can put the logistics for such a move in place a week before the voting day so that there are no delays. I doubt those soldiers' families will want them to remain in a foreign country for longer than they need to. I am sure my father will consider helping with your forces' departure should they need it, Mr. De La Calle."

The Prince gestured toward the pen that Sonneborn had set down on the table, urging the Wankan to consider his next move. "Chancellor, should you have any other demands you deem necessary and appropriate to make, then know that I am still open to hearing them and discussing them with yourself and Mr. De La Calle. However, I do believe we have covered all issues thus far, as such I'd like to push for you to agree to the conditions, both original and recently added, of the document in front of you so that we can begin implementation of the TDF, organise the mechanics of the Sylvan withdrawal from the Cloysteric Highlands and lay the foundations for minimal Wankan involvement in the region of Zwickau."

Sonneborn hesitated yet again, picking up the pen and was about to sign the paper when he stopped, thinking. The atmosphere in the room was tense, there was no doubt about it, with both Prince Ivan and De La Calle, and secretly also Sonneborn, wanting to finally put an end to the bloodshed- while trying to come out as favourably as possible from the war which had claimed over a hundred thousand lives, the majority civilians.

Finally, the Wankan chancellor relented. There was nothing more to say; he had gotten more or less what he came for, albeit at a slight cost. He believed, and as it turned out, rightly so, that he could use this to his advantage and turn a military loss into a political victory. Sonneborn put pen to paper and signed, the other two men looking relieved as he finished, and looked up. However, he didn't pass the pen on to De La Calle; as if to spurn the Sylvan one last time, he handed the pen back to Ivan, while staring straight, coldly, at De La Calle.

Not a word was spoken as the document was signed by the First Minister. Nobody said anything as the three men exited the room and entered the press conference room, where Prince Ivan formally announced the success of the Erus Accords and with that, the ending of the Saxon War- to loud cheers from millions watching from all over the world. The three men tersely shook hands and answered several questions from the press before the leaders left Aemen for home. To ready themselves, once again, for the next propaganda and political onslaught that they would face or orchestrate. 

**THE ERUS ACCORDS**

1\. Immediate ceasefire along all fronts and withdrawal of all military personnel and equipment to agreed lines and cease hostilities against all enemy combatants and citizens

Wanka will withdraw all of the aforementioned from Saxon territory  
Sylva will withdraw all of the aforementioned from Saxony and Wanka  
Aemen will ensure that both sides will be held to the conditions of the ceasefire and will establish a temporary military presence within Saxony to oversee the deconstruction of all hostilities and assist where necessary

2\. Ordering of all militant allies to stand down and desist  
3\. Release of all prisoners of war and ensuring of their safe return to their native countries

Date, location and exchange are to be decided on at a later date  
Deadline for the repatriation of all POWs is set at the 1st May

4\. Ceasing of all provocative rhetoric concerning the future of Saxony  
5\. Public admission of responsibility and apology by Sylva and involved League nations for causing the war  
6\. Pledge not to include Saxony in any offensive or defensive military alliance

Sylva will not draw Saxony into any military alliance  
Wanka will, in case of accession of Saxony, pledge not to deploy any offensive weaponry to Saxony

7\. Provide safe access, delivery and distribution of humanitarian aid where necessary  
8\. Suspension of all Saxon government officials and military personnel from their roles  
9\. Creation of the tri-national Transitional Deterrence Force to oversee the interim period from the end of the Saxon War to its new government, consisting of Aemen, Wanka and Sylva and headed by Prince Ivan

Authorizing the stationing of troops, predominantly by Aemen, in Saxony to avoid exacerbation of political and ethnic groups within Saxony  
Authorizing the stationing of personnel by Wanka and Sylva to areas where their ethnicities are most prominent in  
Expiration of the TDF mandate over Saxony is set at the 1st July

10\. Setting up of a provisional regime by the TDF

Full authority, including executive powers, will be handed to the TDF  
Provision of the majority of TDF civilian and regime personnel will be Aemen to avoid exacerbation of tensions within Saxony  
Organization of humanitarian aid efforts and returning refugees  
The regime's mandate will end two weeks after the referendum is held

11\. Holding of a nationwide referendum to determine the future model of government of Saxony

Options will include:  
Remain a Duchy with a constitutional monarch as head of state  
Change to a republic  
Follow the Wankan system of government

Holding of referendum will take place on 15th June by the latest  
All citizens of Saxony above the age of 18 will be eligible to vote

12\. Authorization for Wanka to indefinitely maintain a minimal degree of influence in Zwickau and the territory between it and the Wankan border

Citizens will have the options of choosing Wankan or Saxon citizenship  
Zwickau will remain a free city and Wanka will allow for unhindered movement between Saxony and areas under the Wankan sphere of influence  
Wanka will not intervene in the local administration unless Wankan national security is threatened

Signed:

Heinrich Sonneborn

Stephen de la Calle

Chancellor of Wanka

First Minister of Sylva

Prince Ivan of Aemen

Arbiter


End file.
